


I'^Ol 



C 




i 



Kg, 



COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

AND OTHER POEMS 



s 



BY 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY 

GEORGE A. WAUCHOPE 



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HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



STAND ABD LITERATURE SERIES 

The Courtship of 
Miles Standish 

AND OTHER POEMS 

BY y 

HENKY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 

BY 

GEORGE ARMSTRONG WAUCHOPE, M.A., Ph.D. 

ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN SOUTH CAROLINA. r;0>LLEGE 



UNIVERSITY PUBLISHING COMPANY 
NEW YORK . : • BOSTON • : • NEW ORLEANS 



THE LIBRARY OF 

CONGRESS, 
Two CopiEe Received 

MAY. 7 1901 

COWRIQHT ENTRY 

CLASS ^XXc. ^4«. 
COPY B. 



Copyright, 1901, by 
UNIVERSITY PUBLISHING COMPANY 



*** 2365 




NOTE TO TEACHERS. 

The present editor of '" The Courtship of Miles Standish '' 
has aimed to adapt his style aud treatment to a comparatively 
yoang class of pupils. Having in mind especially those just 
below the high-school grades, he has made his suggestions for 
study as simple and practicalas is consistent with thorough 
work. To this end he invites the cooperation of the teacher, 
for the best results are reached when instructor and editor 
understand each other's aims. Even the lightest study of a 
piece of literature calls for some definite plan of work to dif- 
ferentiate it from mere casual reading for amusement. A 
class even in literature must have a lesson to get. The first 
reading may still be for pleasure, but the skilful teacher will 
use this as a basis for training in the simpler principles of 
criticism, for the acquisition of knowledge and culture, and 
for mental discipline. It is not hard to interest pupils at the 
story-loving age in what is meant by a plot, how it is put 
together, what jmrt the actors play, and the teachings of the 
book. The study of the poet's materials will open up natu- 
rally the important relation of history to literature, of facts 
to art, and the author's method of work. From this higher 
ground the advance is easy and gradual to the mastery of 
some of the great principles of poetic art. The list of tojDics 
and questions in the introduction will indicate the editor's 
plan, which is to start each pupil out, note-book in hand, to 
find illustrations of points already made, to whet his powers 
of observation, to draw out his reasoning faculties, and culti- 
vate a taste for critical research. 

A number of the favorite shorter poems of the author have 
been included in this volume, to meet the desire of many 

teachers. (^^ j^ AYauchopk. 

South Carolina Collkcjp:. 



CONTENTS 



NOTE TO TEACHERS 



PAGE 
V 



INTRODUCTION ix 

I. Historical Material ix 

§ 1. An American Poem ix 

§ 2. The Pilgrims x 

§ 3. The Characters xvi 

Priscilla Mullens— John Aldeii — Miles Standish. 



II. 



Study of 

^ 4. 



§ 6. 



§10. 



the Poem ....... 

Its Form and Structure 

Its Style 

Narration — Character-drawing — Deijcriptionr- 

Humor — Literary Influences. 

Figures of Speech 

Simile — Metaphor — Metonymy — Synecdoclio 

Allegory — Apostrophe. 
The Meter ...... 

Chronological Outlink .... 

Critical Opinions 

Topics for Study and Review Que-stions 



XXI 
XXV 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

I. Miles Standish 

11. Love and Friendship . 

III. The Lover's Errand . 

IV. John Alden .... 
V. The Sailing of the "Mayflower 

VI. Priscilla .... 

VII. The March of Miles Standish 

VIII. The Spinning-Wheel . 

IX. The Wedding-Day 



xxxii 
xxxvi 
xxxix 

xliii 

1 
1 
7 

13 
21 
29 
37 
42 
48 
54 



CONTENTS. 



Vll 



misciUjLaneoits poems 

From " Voices of the Night. 

A Psalm of I^ife 

The Reaper and the Flowers 

Footsteps of Axgels 

The Beleaguered City . 



From "' Earlier Poemx." 

Hymn of the Moravian Nuns 

Burial of the Minnisink .... 

From " Ballads and Other Poems." 

The Skeleton in Armor .... 
The Wreck of the Hesperus 
The Village Blacksmith .... 
Excelsior 

From " The Belfry of Bruges and Other I'oeim 

The Belfry of Bruges , 
The Arsenal at Springfield 

Nuremberg 

The Norman Baron 

Rain in Summer .... 

The Bridge 

Seaweed 

The Day is Done .... 
The Arrow and the Song 
The Old Clock on the Stairs 

From " The Seaside and the Fireside 



The Building of the Ship 
Sir Humphrey Gilbert . 
The Fire of Drift-wood 
Resignation 



From "Birds of Passage, Flight the First/ 

The Ladder of St. Augustine 

The Warden of the Cinque Ports 

The ExMperor's Bird's-nest .... 



PAGE 

61 



61 
62 
63 
65 



67 

68 



70 
75 

78 
80 



81 
84 
86 
89 
91 
94 
97 
98 
100 
100 



103 
115 
117 
119 



121 
122 
124 



VI 11 



CONTENTS. 



The Two Angels 

Oliver Basselin 

My Lost Youtu 

The Golden Mile-stoxe 

Sandalphon 



pAGi; 
126 
128 
130 
133 
135 



NOTES 



139 



INTRODUCTION. 

I. Historical Material. 
§ 1. A 71 America 71 Poem. 

Elevek years after the appearance of "Evangeline," 
Longfellow again attempted a long narrative poem in the 
hexameter meter. The result was ''The Courtship of Miles 
Standish," published in 1858. The background is still 
American, but the poet has passed from the ruined hamlets 
of Frencli Acadia to the bustling village of Puritan Plym- 
outh. In subject, the transition is from a romance of tragic 
pathos and gloom to a half -humorous story of love and friend- 
ship. ''Evangeline" presents scenes of domestic happiness 
followed by disaster and heart-breaking separation; "The 
Courtship " pictures the stern struggle between two races, and 
crowns with gladness two devoted hearts. 

In the later poem Longfellow has come nearer home for a 
subject, and written a lovely idyll based on the simple but 
strenuous life of his Puritan ancestors. He had previously 
composed a number of ballads and lyrics dealing with the 
legends of ^ew England, and tales of the early pioneers pos- 
sessed a peculiar charm for his imagination. These poems 
have touched the hearts of his readers as none of his foreign 
subjects have done, and caused him to be regarded as our 
most popular and representative poet. 

"The Courtship" has as its scene, or background, a real 
and famous chapter in history — the settlement of the Pilgrim 
Fathers at Plymouth on the coast of Massachusetts. Now, 



X INTROPUCTION. 

in order to study the poem thoroughly, we shall first have to 
make ourselves familiar with the time and place of its setting. 
We must also know a good deal about the customs, opinions, 
and character of those quaint old Pilgrims. All this is a mat- 
ter of history, and tlie best plan will be to read some of the 
very same old journals and chronicles which Longfellow read 
before writing his poem. We may then compare the bare 
facts of the story with the finished masterpiece which his art 
has made out of those crude materials. This will be having 
a glimpse into the poet's workshop, for we may see something 
of the process by which he changed a rough backwoods story 
into a charming piece of literature. 

One of the first things that we shall notice is that our 
author has taken a poet's license and made free use of his 
sources. He has cut out some of the facts and put in others 
of his own invention; and the parts which he has selected to 
use, he has changed and rearranged to suit his purpose. He 
has changed the time and relative position of certain events, 
developed the more important, and toned down harsh and dis- 
agreeable features. He has thus done what all great artists 
know so well how to do — idealized his subject. 

§ 2. Hie Filgriins. 

We must first know something about the people in the little 
community of which Priscilla and Alden and Captain Stan- 
dish formed a part. Who were they, where did they come 
from, and how did they happen to be living in that little row 
of eleven log-cabins on the 'Miigh and rock-bound coast" of 
Xew England ? 

The Pilgrims came originally from England, where they 
formed part of the great body of Puritans, who were a plain, 
pious, industrious people. By the sixteenth century the 
Established Church of England, which had always been rit- 
ualistic, had also grown exceedingly worldly. It was an age 
of intolerance, and men persecuted one another for not hold- 



INTRODUCTION. XI 

ing similar religions views. The Puritans, as the name im- 
plies, tried to jiurify the English Church from what Calvin 
called ^' Popish dregs," such as making the sign of the cross, 
using the ring in the marriage service, and wearing the sur- 
plice. They were strict in the observance of moral, social, 
and religious duties, and held that creeds, ritualistic modes of 
worship, and the lordly pomp of bishops were opposed to the 
simple and equal spirit of Christianity. They were conse- 
quently persecuted by the civil authorities for their noncon- 
formity to the views of the State Church. 

In 1580 a number of the Puritans, known as Separatists, 
who believed in free preaching and a simpler form of wor- 
ship, separated themselves from the congregations and held 
services in private houses. William Brewster was their ruling 
elder, and John Robinson, Avho had been suspended by the 
bishop, was their pastor. King James, who came to the 
throne in 1603, took the view that dissent would lead to dis- 
loyalty, and persecuted this reformed church. 

After being continually harassed by the ecclesiastical 
authorities, the Independents, with other dissenting churches, 
removed, in 1608, to Holland, where they found an asylum 
and religious toleration. They first settled in Amsterdam, 
and thence went to Leyden. '•' After residing several years in 
that city," says Holmes, ''various causes influenced them to 
entertain serious thoughts of a removal to America. These 
causes were, the unheal thiness of the low country where they 
lived; the hard labors to which they were subjected; the dis- 
sipated manners of the Hollanders, especially their lax obser- 
vance of the Lord's day; the apprehension of war at the con- 
clusion of the truce between Spain and Holland, which was 
then near its close; the fear lest their young men would enter 
into the military and naval service; the tendency of their 
little community to become absorbed and lost in a foreign 
nation; the natural and pious desire of perpetuating a church, 
which they believed to be constituted after the simple and 



XU INTRODUCTION. 

pure model of the primitive church of Christ; and a com- 
mendable zeal to propagate the gospel in the regions of the 
New World.'" 

The problem of getting across the Atlantic was a difficult 
one for a whole community, many of whom were poor. The 
Pilgrims sent their agents to England to see what could be 
done. A joint stock company was formed with about seventy 
London merchants, who agreed to provide the transporta- 
tion." Hard terms were imposed on the colonists, which their 
circumstances compelled them to accept. The king signed a 
patent incorporating '^the adventurers to the northern col- 
ony of Virginia," by which they were authorized to establish 
a plantation somewhere about Hudson's river.^ 

The Pilgrims came over from Leyden in July, 1G20, to pre- 
pare for the dangerous voyage, and to take a last farewell of 
their native land. The parting scene at the beach in Holland 
is the subject of one of the great national paintings which 
hang in the Capitol at Washington. After a solemn service 
and many pathetic good-byes, they embarked from South- 
ampton in two old-fashioned sailing ships, the "Mayflower," 
one hundred and eighty tons burden, and the "Speedwell,'' 
sixty tons. They were, unfortunately, obliged to return twice 
on account of the leakiness of the smaller vessel. At last, 
after many discouragements, on September 6, 1620, the 
"Mayflower" sailed alone with one hundred and one passen- 
gers, among them being Miles Standish and his wife Eose, 
Elder Brewster, Stephen Hopkins, Eichard Warren, Gilbert 
Winslow, Jones, captain of the ship, John Alden, and Pris- 
cilla Mullens or Molines, all of whom are mentioned in our 
poem.* Carver, Bradford, and Edward Winslow were also on 
board, each of whom became governor of the colony. It was 
a remarkable company, all with stout hearts and godly char- 

1 Holmeg''s Aimals of America, Part IT., Period I., pp. 158, 159. 

2 Capt. John Smith's Genei^al History of Virginia, ii., p. 251. 

3 Hazard's State Palmers, i., p. 340. 

< Bradford's and Winslow'e Journal in Young's Chronicles, chap. ix. 



INTKODUCTION. Xlll 

acters, and worthy to be the founders of a new nation beyond 
the sea. 

After a stormy voyage, in the course of which their ship 
became leaky and at times unmanageable, they joyfully dis- 
covered land oft* Cape Cod. This was far northward of their 
destination, but owing to the advanced season of the year and 
the unseaworthy condition of tlie '' Mayflower," and espe- 
cially to the treachery of the captain, they dropped anchor in 
the harbor of Plymouth.' After prayer and thanksgiving, 
a compact was signed by which the Pilgrims organized them- 
selves into a body politic with Carver as first governor." On 
November 13th, says Bradford, " Our people went on shore to 
refresh themselves, and our women to wash, as they had great 
need." On the 15th Captain Standish and others were sent 
out in the shallop to fetch wood and seek a suitable spot for 
a settlement. On this expedition they brought back ten 
bushels of Indian corn. 

The feelings of these homeless wanderers are well expressed 
in the following letter, written by one of them from the cabin 
of the '^Mayflower": '*At last, praise be to God! we lie 
within sight of land, but what a land! Stern rocks with 
cruel waves forever dashing upon them, black forests shelter- 
ing who knows what fearful creatures and still more fearful 
savages; snow, ice, desolation, at every hand; no houses, no 
Christian people, no sign of the work of man. I had almost 
said no sign of the work of God. Such is our new home; and 
yet we have no choice but to accept it, for the captain says 
and swears that he will carry ns no farther, and unless we 
settle where we will establish ourselves without more delay, 
he will put us ashore at the liearest point." 

The final landing occurred on Thursday, December 21, 
1620, on a high ground where some land had been cleared by 
the savages for planting corn, and a sweet brook ran under 

1 Prince's Chronological History of New England, Part II. 

2 Morton's New England's Memorial, pp. 37-39. 



XIV INTRODUCTION. 

the hill-side. They selected an eminence, and erected a plat- 
form on which they planted their ordnance so as to command 
all the country about.' This was Burial Hill, referred to in 
the poem,, from which was an extensive prospect of Gurnet's 
Nose, the shore and ocean for miles around. The spot had 
been marked Plymouth on a chart of the coast made by Cap- 
tain John Smith, and was the name of the port from which 
they had last sailed in England. 

Here the men erected a log-cabin "twenty feet square for 
their common use, to receive them and their goods." In a 
short time they had built three more houses for the use of 
the plantation and seven for individual families, which were 
arranged in two rows.^ Lots were measured ofE and assigned 
''for meersteads and garden-plots" to the nineteen families 
into which the hundred colonists had been grouped. They 
were fortunately not molested by the Indians, for a recent 
plague had swept away most of the natives of that region.^ 
Later, hoAvever, the settlers were frequently alarmed by the 
cries of the savages and the great forest fires kindled by them. 
The first visit from an Indian was that of the sagamore Samo- 
set, who on March IGth walked boldly into the settlement 
calling out, ''Welcome, Englishmen!" He was soon fol- 
lowed by Massasoit, the king of the neighboring tribe, who 
made a league of friendship with the whites which was kept 
inviolably for fifty years." In 1623 a formidable conspiracy 
against the English settlers was formed by the Massachusetts 
tribe, under the leadership of Wittuwamet and Pecksuot. It 
was promptly put down by Stand ish, both the chiefs being 
killed, and the former's head being set up on the fort.^ This 
incident forms a part of Longfailow's plot. 

1 Bradford's Journal., December 20. 

2 Prince's Chronological History, p. 168. 

3 Higginson's Neiv England Plantation, WHO, and Mortoire Netv EnglancVs Me7noi'ial 
(Davis), pp. 51, 52. 

4 Holmes's Annals of America, pp. 100-08. 
s Idem, p. 181. 



INTRODUCTION. XV 

The sufferings of the first winter (1620-21) were enough to 
shake the resohition of the Pilgrims. Though frost and foul 
weather hindered them much in their building, it Avas provi- 
dentially a very mild winter for that latitude,' otherwise the 
colony could hardly have survived. Half of the entire com- 
pany died, "the greatest part," says Bradford, "in the 
depth of winter, wanting houses and other comforts, being 
infected with the scurvy and other diseases, which their long 
voyage and unaccommodate condition brought upon them."" 
Dudley wrote home: " It may be said of us almost as of the 
Egyptians, that there is not a house where there is not one 
dead, and in some houses many."^ Wood tells us that this 
terrible mortality was due to their tainted sea-diet and lack of 
warm housing and bedding.'' Their sublime faith enabled 
them to support all these discouragements and disasters with 
extraordinary patience. Their manner of disposing of the 
dead alluded to in the poem is explained by this quotation 
from Dr. Holmes: "Tradition gives us an affecting picture 
of the infant colony during this critical and distressing period. 
The dead were buried on the bank, at a little distance from 
the rock where the fathers landed; and, lest the Indians 
should take advantage of the weak and wretched state of the 
English, the graves were levelled and sown for the purpose of 
concealment." ^ 

In spite of these accumulated hardshi^^s and appalling losses, 
the Pilgrims did not abandon their settlement. Strange to 
say, when the " Mayflower " set sail for England in April, not 
one took advantage of the chance to return home. Hence- 
forth America was to be their home. 

The Plymouth colony grew so slowly that by 1630 there 
were only three hundred persons in the community. Lack of 

J Young's Chronicles of tJie Pilgrim Fathers, p. 123. 

2 Bradforcrs JournaU in Young, pp. 197, 198. 

3 Massachusetts Historical Collections, viii. 43. 
* W^ood's Neiv EnglancVs Prospect., chap. ii. 
•Holmes's Annals of America. 



XVI INTKODUCTION. 

capital 21 re vented them from engaging in cod-fishing, and furs 
bartered from the natives were almost their only articles of 
export. The merchant adventurers were disappointed at the 
small return from their investment; and though holding the 
settlers to their labor contract, refused them further aid. 
The colonists did succeed, however, in 1625, through their 
agent. Captain Standish, in borrowing £200 at the exorbitant 
rate of 30 per cent. 

During the next six years they managed, .by hard labor and 
strict economy, to buy up the shares of the London merchants 
for £1,800. From this time they were really free men, and 
could spend what they earned in developing the settlement. 
The Plymouth Plantation ended its distinct existence in 1691, 
when it was incorporated with the Massachusetts Bay Colony. 

§ 3. The Characters. 

Such was the community that Longfellow chose as the set- 
ting for his story. He makes us feel, as we read the poem, 
that old Plymouth atmosphere with its strange mixture of 
stern enthusiasm, austere piety, and undemonstrative tender- 
ness. Under a cold and forbidding outside glowed many a 
heart that was warm and true. The deep human feelings of 
the characters stand out in all the stronger relief because of 
this contrast with their surroundings. Just as the little may- 
flower (our trailing arbutus) is all the sweeter and more pre- 
cious because it blooms among the rocks and dying leaves and 
melting snow, so is the blossoming of the love of the dear Puri- 
tan girl the more beautiful for its uncongenial environment. 

This scenic background of "" The Courtship '^ is not its only 
historical feature, for all the principal characters are based 
on real persons. Priscilla, Alden, and Standish had in Plym- 
outh their living counterparts who are mentioned by name 
in the early chronicles. By comparing these originals with 
Longfellow's characters we may get a glimpse of his method 
of work. We shall then be able to say how far the poet has 



INTRODUCTION. XVll 

added to or subtracted from their characters, and to what 
extent he has idealized them. 

Much less is known of Priscilla Mullens than of either of 
her rival suitors. From this simple fact we may infer that 
hers was a sweet, retiring nature that avoided publicity. No 
doubt she regarded the log home her proper sphere, and was 
happy with the domestic duties of the fireside and garden. 

On the passenger list of the '' Mayflower" were the names 
of ^'Mr. William Mullines and his wife, and two children, 
Joseph and Priscilla; and a servant, Eobart Carter." A 
later record states that ''Mr. Molines, and his wife, his son, 
and his servant, dyed the first winter. Only his daugh- 
ter Priscilla survived and married with John Alden, who are 
both living and have eleven children." ' Her father was the 
tenth signer of the Compact, and Morton mentions him as 
''a man pious and well deserving, endowed also with a con- 
siderable outward estate; and had it been the will of God that 
he had survived, might have proved a useful instrument in 
his place." ^ It was a dreadful experience thus to lose all her 
relatives within a few weeks in a strange land. But there is 
evidence that she did not give herself up entirely to grief, but 
ministered to the sick and dying. '"There die sometimes 
two or three a day," says an eye-witness. "Of a hundred 
persons scarce fifty remain; the living scarce able to bury the 
dead; the well not sufficient to tend the sick, there being, in 
their time of greatest distress, but six or seven, who spare no 
pains to hel]^ them." ^ 

The records are meager, but from what we know of condi- 
tions at Plymouth, we may infer much in regard to Priscilla's 
good constitution, which must have been sound indeed to 
withstand such hardships. She must have been a brave girl 
to outlive those distressing experiences, and her womanly 

1 Bradford's History of the Plimoulh Plantation, p. 452. 

2 Morton's New England 's Jlemot^ial, p. 50. 

a Bradford's and Winslow's Journal (Young), ]). 198. 



XVin INTRODUCTION. 

character must have matured rapidly. Longfellow was de- 
scended from his beautiful heroine through his mother. Miss 
Wadsworbh, and no doubt has drawn her true in the main to 
the family traditions faithfully handed down. She was "the 
loveliest maid in Plymouth," modest, yet frank, and true to 
her own heart ; industrious, sympathetic, endowed with, a 
delicate sense of humor, practical, and deeply pious. From 
an entry in the poet's Journal in December, 1857, we learn 
that he thought then of giving her name to the poem. "I 
begin a new poem," he wrote, '^ 'Priscilla,' to be a kind of 
Puritan pastoral; the subject, the courtship of Miles Stan- 
dish." 

We know slightly more of John Alden. He was born in 
England in 1599. His trade and general reputation are set- 
tled by a reference in Bradford: " He was hired for a cooper 
at Southampton where the ship victualled; and being a hope- 
ful young man, was much desired, but left to his own liking 
to go or to stay, when he came here (to Plymouth, that is) ; 
but he stayed and married here.'' ^ He was twenty-one years 
of age when he embarked in the '^ Mayflower," and we find 
it hard not to believe that the presence of a certain maiden 
on that ship helped him to decide. 

He was the seventh to sign the Compact, and took an active 
share in organizing the government of the new settlement. 
When the Pilgrims grouped themselves into nineteen families, 
so that they might build fewer houses, all single men that 
had no families being willing to join with some family, Alden, 
being a ready writer, was attached to Captain Standish as his 
secretary. Further than the fact of his having wedded Pris- 
cilla, little more is known of his history, except that he served 
as a magistrate for more than fifty years, and was of great assist- 
ance in planting the colony firmly. He died at Duxbury on 
September 12, 1687. 

From these suggestions we may trace the character of Alden 

1 Histo?y of the Pli7nouth Platitation. 



INTRODUCTION. ^ XIX 

as it rounded out in all its gentleness, unselfishness, sensitive- 
ness, and nobility. The poet has so delicately and strongly 
treated the young man's loyalty to his companion, that he 
has immortalized it as one of the famous friendships of liter- 
ature. 

Captain Standish is more of a genuine historical personage 
than his scholar-friend. lie was born in Lancashire, Eng- 
land, in 1584, ''a gentleman," says Morton, ''and heir ap- 
parent unto a great estate of land and livings, surreptitiously 
detained from him, his grandfather being a second or younger 
brother from the house of Standish." ' One of his name had 
been knighted for slaying Wat Tyler, and another. Sir John 
Standish, had fought at Agincourt in 1415. Young thinks 
that the captain was " a> scion of this ancient and warlike 
stock from his giving the name of Duxbury to the town where 
he settled, and calling his son Alexander." ^ 

From his subsequent career it is evident that plenty of good 
warrior blood flowed in his veins. Educated as a soldier, he 
fought as a lieutenant in the forces sent over by Qneen Eliza- 
beth to aid the Dutch against the Spaniards. During the 
truce he attached himself to Eobinson and his congregation, 
though he never became a member of the church. Liking 
their principles, or jierhaps through mere love of adventure, 
he accompanied them to America as their military leader. 

There is frequent mention of him in the Plymouth chroni- 
cles. He is described as '' a man of small stature, but of such 
an active and daring spirit that he spread terror through all 
the Indian tribes." His little army of sixteen men, wdiich 
had been drilled into a perfect fighting machine, was able to 
defeat twenty times their number of savages. Their captain's 
daring, skill in dealing with the natives, and his promptness 
in suppressing their conspiracies is shown in an expedition 
against the Massachusetts in 1623. Longfellow works the 

1 New England's Meinorial, \>. 262. 

2 Young's Chronicles^ chap, ix., p, 126, 



XX INTRODUCTION. 

incident into his poem finely. **The governor, on receiving 
this intelligence/" says Holmes, 'Svhich was confirmed by 
other evidences, ordered Standish to take with him as many 
men as he should judge sufficient, and, if a plot should be 
discovered, to fall on the conspirators. Standish, with eight 
men, sailed to the Massachusetts, where the natives, suspecting 
his design, insulted and threatened him. Watching his op- 
portunity, when four of them, Wittuwamet, Pecksuot, another 
Indian, and a youth of eighteen, brother of AYittuwamet, and 
about as many of his own men, were in the same room, he 
gave a signal to his men; the door was instantly shut; and 
snatching the knife of Pecksuot from his neck, he killed him 
with it, after a violent struggle; his party killed Wittuwamet, 
and the other Indian, and hung the youth. Proceeding to 
another place, Standish killed an Indian; and afterwards had 
a skirmish with a party of Indians, which he put to flight. 
Weston's men also killed tAVO Indians. Standish, with that 
generosity which characterizes true bravery, released the In- 
dian women, without taking their beaver coats, or allowing 
the least incivility to be offered to them." ' 

The military training of Captain Standish was invaluable 
at a time when fighting was necessary to existence. But he 
knew how to do other things as well. Another and equally 
admirable side of the little soldier appears in Governor Brad- 
ford's narrative of ^'the terrible winter" already referred to. 
When all but seven of the settlers were ill, *'a rare example 
and worthy to be remembered were Mr. William Brewster, 
their reverent elder, and Myles Standish, their captain and 
military commander, unto whom myself, and many others 
were much beholden in our low and sick condition; and yet 
the Lord so upheld these persons, as in this general calamity 
they were not at all infected either with sickness or lame- 
ness." Elsewhere we are given particulars of how these men 
" spared no pains, night nor day, but Avith abundance of toil 

1 Annals of America, p. 181. 



INTRODUCTION. Xxi 

and hazard of their own health, fetched them wood, made 
them fires, dressed them meat, made their beds, washed their 
loathsome clothes, clothed and unclothed them."' Miles 
Standish performed for his friends and brethren all of these 
homely and necessary offices willingly and cheerfully without 
any grudging. One of the deaths was that of his wife. Rose 
Standish, who came over in the ''Mayflower." Ilis second 
wife Avas Barbara (family name unknown), an orphan sister of 
Rose. She was left behind in England, but reached Plym- 
outh afterwards in the ''Fortune." They had six children, 
and many of their descendants are now living. In 1G25 he 
was selected as agent of the colony to make a settlement with 
the company in London, and negotiated the loan mentioned 
above. He w^as one of the proprietors and first settlers of 
Duxbury, where he served as magistrate for the rest of his 
life. In 1649 he assisted in the settlement of Bridge water. 
He died on October 3, 165G, leaving a name, like that of Cap- 
tain John Smith of Virginia, forever enrolled in the history 
of his country. At Dnxbury there has been erected in his 
honor a lofty stone shaft surmounted by a bronze statue. 

II. Study of the Poem. 

§ 4. Its Form ayid Structure. 

One of the first things to do in studying a piece of litera- 
ture is to determine its form. Is it prose or poetry ? If the 
latter, is its structure dramatic, lyric, or narrative? In case 
it belongs to the last named class, we examine it further to 
see whether it is an epic, an allegory, a ballad, a pastoral 
poem, or a verse-romance. Many of the scenes of "The 
Courtship," especially in Parts III., VIII., and IX., are pas- 
toral, or idyllic, in their character, but its unity of purpose, 
its well-ordered plot, its sustained narrative power, its dra- 

1 BradforcVs Ilistonj of the Plimouth Plantation, Hart reprint, pp. 340, 350. 



Xxii IKTRODUCTION. 

ma tic situations, and its picturesque and romantic features 
will incline us to class it as a verse-romance. 

Like its companion poem, "Evangeline," it is a tale of 
true love whose course does not run smooth, but of which it 
may be happily said that all's well that ends well. It is less 
tragic and passionate than the story of the wandering French 
girl, but in both we breathe the sweet fresh air of the forest. 
" The Courtship " keeps more on the plane of everyday life, 
and to that extent is less idealistic and more realistic. One 
evidence of this is the greater amount of humor in the Puri- 
tan poem and the absence of any deep and soul-stirring 
pathos. The underlying motive of the poem is to be found 
in the question which Priscilla asks so coyly yet tremulously: 

" Why don't you speak for yourself, John ? " 

In *^ Evangeline ■' the improbable happens, but in "The 
Courtship" it is the likely, the probable, and the inevitable. 
Both strike a homely, tender note in the heart, and we are 
reminded of the sadness as well as the gladness of living. In 
both are simple lives, deep piety, and unaffected manners, 
but there is a wide difference in the real character of the 
people. The Acadians are weak, childlike, emotional; the 
Puritans, strong, practical, undemonstrative. The former 
are ready to bubble over with sentiment, and are willing to 
submit to their fate; the latter are proud, masterful, inclined 
to brood, and have iron in their blood. We see the racial 
distinction between the Celt and the Saxon. In the present 
work Longfellow was among his own people, and more at 
home, and his touch is surer in detail, he is more humorous, 
more colloquial. In the revelation of the universal human 
heart neither poem can claim precedence. 

The plot, or chain of events that make up the story, of 
"The Courtship" is more simple, and more skilfully con- 
structed than that of "Evangeline." It is true, the move- 
ment in the former is less complex than in the latter. The 



INTRODUCTION. XXIU 

introduction to "' The Courtship " is shorter, more dramatic, 
and pnts you more quickly right into the midst of the action. 

There is always something in every story to cause the 
trouhle and delay the happy ending. We may call this the 
exciting force. In our poem it is that two good friends want 
the same girl. The love of Alden and Standish for Priscilla 
runs counter to their long friendship, and makes them all 
unhappy for a time, but the heart and good sense of the girl 
solve one problem, and the friendship of the rivals stands the 
test. The contrast between the robust, active soldier and the 
refined, dreamy scholar is so great that we never seriously 
expect a tragedy. The author avoids too serious a tone 
because that would have been out of keeping with his plan. 

The course of the story is marked by crises. K crisis is 
some exciting, or dramatic, situation worked up between two 
or more people, but sometimes a crisis may be in the mental 
agony or the soiil-conflict of one person. The first crisis in 
this poem is when Standish asks Alden as a friend to do an 
almost impossible thing; the second is the struggle in Alden's 
mind between his friendship for the man and his love for the 
woman. It will be interesting for the pupil to find other 
crises, and explain the interest of each situation. 

The entire plot may be divided into two more general move- 
ments, which we shall call the complication and the resoht- 
tion. They bear to each other the relation of cause to effect. 
The turning-point from one to the other is the most impor- 
tant crisis of the book, and is called the climax. In ''The 
Courtship " the climax is j^l^ced in the mechanical center of 
the poem in Part Y., where Alden is restrained from sailing 
away in the ''Mayflower'' by the love-luring look of Pris- 
cilla. Everything goes wrong up to that point; all the diffi- 
culties both external and conscientious begin to unravel after 
that soul-revealing glance by which the girl holds her lover 
from taking the irrevocable step. Had he taken it, the result 
would have been tragic, but Longfellow wished this tale, 



XXIV • INTRODUCTION. 

unlike "Evangeline,"' to have a happy ending, like a com- 
edy. The ending of a tragedy is called the catastroplie ; that 
of a comedy, the dhiouement. 

The tangling of the 2)lot goes on steadily, step by step, each 
crisis adding another knot, nntil we reach the great central 
crisis, the climax at the beacli scene. From this point the 
unravelling of the knot goes on rapidly. After that there 
can be no doubt of the final result. The interest of the story 
is reawakened by shifting the story from the lovers to the 
bold exploit of Miles Standish, his exciting fight with the 
Indians, and the danger to the colony. This also gives a 
pleasing variety to the reader, who besides is kept in an anx- 
ious state of mind as to how the captain will act toward the 
lovers. This suspense is broken by the report of his death, 
only to have the surprise and anxiety renewed when he sud- 
denly appears at the wedding. The scene at the end of Part 
III. also plays an interesting part in the development of the 
plot. What at first seems to make matters worse for poor 
John, really brings in an element which in the end is to 
straighten out the whole tangle, and so Priscilla's choice is 
hinted at very delicately and humorously. We feel that if 
she loves and prefers Alden, then the soldier will never get 
her. A woman's heart will always find a way to its love. 
But even after the love-story becomes stationary, we do not 
lose interest, because there is still the possible danger from 
Alden 's military rival. 

When we compare the poem with the actual events given 
under " Historical Material," v/e see with what freedom 
Longfellow treats his material. He rearranges the order of 
certain events, and regulates the length of time which he 
wishes to elapse between the various parts of his story. There 
is this entry in Governor Bradford's " Journal ": ' " Jan. 29, 
dies Rose, the wife of Captain Standish." Another entry 
settles the date of the sailing of the '' Mayflower " : '' April 5. 

1 Prince's Chronological History of New England, p. 184. 



INTRODUCTION. XXV 

We despatch the ship with Captain Jones, who this day sails 
from New Plymouth."' Again, the suppression of the In- 
dian conspiracy occurred in March, 1623, according to Win- 
slow's ''Journal." All these events are brought together in 
the poem. The dates help us to determine the time of the 
action. It is strange that the poet should represent the cap- 
tain as sending Priscilla a proposal of marriage only about 
two months after the death of his wife Rose. We conclude, 
however, that Longfellow chose the spring of 1621 for the 
time of the action, and has grouped all of the events which took 
place from 1621 to 1623 in the former year. He has not held 
closely to the history, but has aimed to present a vivid and 
true 23icture representative in its main outlines of the life of 
the Puritan colony. All this shows that Longfellow was both 
a good story-teller and a wise and clever artist. 

§ 5. The Style of the Poem. 

After having studied the framework of our poem, and seen 
how the author has put the various parts together, we are 
ready to examine the style and various internal features, such 
as the method of character drawing, the humor, the pathos, 
the description, the figures of speech, and the literary influ- 
ences. 

Considered as a piece of narration, " The Courtship " is a 
model of concise and rapid story-telling. Each part contains 
an incident of its own, and each is told in such a spirited way 
as to hold the reader's interest. We never saw any one who 
did not enjoy a lively tale of love and adventure. AVhen we 
compare the events in the poem with the original records, we 
feel that there is a wide difference between the dry, common- 
place style of the annalists, and the lively, fresh, and imag- 
inative style of the poet. There is ease, grace, and life in 
Longfellow's way of telling the old Puritan legend. This is 
the result of his good training and artistic taste. AVhen he 

1 Young's Chronicles of the Pilgrim Fathers, p. 199. 



XXVI INTRODUCTION. 

wrote this poem he was at his best in point of mental maturity 
and technical skill. He is never obscure, the right word is 
invariably found, and there is a knack of making phrases that 
stick in the memory. Longfellow's imagination was not of 
the highest order, and. there is here no attempt to carry us to 
depths of profound thought, nor to heights of human pass^'on. 
He rather strikes the happy medium of feeling and reflection, 
and thus appeals more than any other poet of our country to 
the young. 

A pleasing feature of the style is the use of halayice, in whicli 
words or phrases are paired off so as to produce the effect of 
light and shade. Examples are : 

''Angels of light they seem, but are only delusions of Sata?i,'^ III. 18. 
" Borne on the send of the sea, and -the swelling hearts of the Pilgrims," 

V. 137. 
'' Friendsliip Vf as hi theiv looks, but in their hearts there was hatred," 

VII. 29. 

The meter, whose movement is like climbing a roof to the 
apex and then descending, lends itself admirably to this prin- 
ciple of contrast. Another favorite device is that of re/je- 
tition, which produces an effect of emphasis and clearness and 
introduces more realistic detail. Instances are found in 
IV. 10, 11; 21, 22; Y. 9, 10; 2G, 27; 3G, 37; 89, 90; A^II. 
3, 7; 31-32. 

Longfellow is by instinct artistic, and chooses to look at 
things from the side of beauty. There is a tendency to give 
a flavor of romance to his work, but his good sense and sanity 
of feeling do not allow him, even in his most idealistic moods, 
to rise too high above the kindly earth. Comparing again 
what he has put into his poem with the facts of the chroni- 
cles, we see how much that is merely disagreeable he has left 
out. He has written to please, not to give scenes of suffering, 
either mental or physical. Furthermore, he carefully avoids 
preaching a sermon or imposing a lesson on his readers. 



INTEODUCTION. XX VU 

Having made ourselves familiar with the i:)rincipal external 
qualities of our author's style, we are ready to study his char- 
acters, and see how and why he has drawn them in a certain 
way. The characters in ''The Courtship" are well chosen 
for purposes of contrast and relief. The interest in a love- 
story will always center in the heroine. Priscilla is no excep- 
tion. It is her heart that is at stake, and she holds the key 
to every situation. Underlying her vein of arch humor, 
which reveals but one side of her girlish mischievousness, 
there is the deeper womanly nature, patient, wise, and sym- 
pathetic. Her nature is a simple, wholesome one, character- 
ized by humor, tenderness, and good sense. She is not to be 
had for the asking, and she will bestow her heart only Avhere 
it is deserved. The refined and scholarly temperament and 
youth of Alden are more congenial to her than the experience, 
courage, and warlike nature of Standish. She is sweet, pure- 
minded, unselfish, and good to look upon. To her, love is 
the supreme test, and her memorable advice to her lover is in 
complete accord with what Shakespeare says on the same 
subject : 

" Friendship is constant in all other things 
Save in the office and affairs of love : 
Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues ; 
Let every eye negotiate for itself 
And trust no agent." ^ 

And therein lies the chief motive and moral purpose of the 
poem. It shows us what to expect whenever love and friend- 
ship are placed in opposition or conflict. 

John Alden, like Orlando in "As You Like It," cannot 
seem much of a hero, for Priscilla has already made her 
choice in his favor before he takes her the captain's proposal. 
He has in him a strain of tender and pensive sentiment befit- 
ting his character of scholar. He reflects a mood that the 
poet is fond of treating, and indeed there is much in this 

1 Much Ado About Nothing, Act II., Scene i., 1!. 157-lCl. 



XXVlll INTRODUCTION. 

higli-touetl, sensitive, beautiful-soulecl youug man that sug- 
gests the maiden-hearted Longfellow himself. The clerk 
sharply contrasts with the soldier. Each is a loyal type of a 
true man, but each has something the other lacks. No doubt 
this like-unlikeness was the bond of their friendship. One is 
a man of thought, the other a man of action. Both aspire 
from different motives to the beautiful heiress of the settle- 
ment. Alden is fitted for conjugal affection and domestic 
duty; Standish for drilling of musketeers and browbeating 
Indian chiefs. The latter is a trifle uneasy in the presence 
of a woman, whose nature he does not understand. He imag- 
ines Priscilla thundering at him a point-blank "No!" and 
thinks that wooing should be conducted in the elegant and 
conventional language of books! He will make a better hus- 
band than lover, but Priscilla has her doubts. He has, how- 
ever, a profound respect for her sex, and speaks affectionately 
of his dead Pose. Even in his armor he is not an imposing 
figure, nor one likely to impress a girPs imagination. He is 
too quick and abrupt in his movements, too self-assertive and 
violent, and has something very like the strut of the bantam 
game-cock. Yet his heart is right, and he is capable of true 
friendship under the most humiliating circumstances. 

Longfellow's de8cri])tions will repay analysis. The strange- 
ness of natural phenomena is made to suggest the wonder and 
mystery of human life. The external world — the sea, the 
forest, the sunset, the gray mist, the bright leaves, the ripe 
fruit, the cold rain — gives an instrumental effect nicely and 
appropriately harmonizing with the spirit of man. The pre- 
vailing hue of the poem is gray, befitting the sombre Puritan 
mood, but it is sometimes relieved Avith richly colored pic- 
tures, such as the gorgeous sunset in Part IV., and the 
autumnal forest in Part IX. The figures of his persons are 
sketched with a few rapid, telling strokes, suggestive rather 
than detailed. They are individualized and vitalized rather 
by what they say and do than by the descriptive portraits. 



INTRODUCTION. XXIX 

and yet there is enough of the merely pictorial to catch the 
eye. The poem lends itself readily to illustration. Before it 
had been out of the press a month, Longfellow wrote in his 
diary: " November 28, 1858: Ehringer has sent me a beauti- 
ful illustration of 'Miles Standish.' It is the bridal proces- 
sion going through the woods, and is full of feeling." Many 
artists have since then embellished the story with pencil and 
brush. 

The whole poem is sweetened and humanized by the many 
delightful sallies of humor' , which is relieved now and then by 
touches of pathos. "Evangeline" is full of pathos, but 
"The Courtship" keeps us more cheerful than sad. Many 
of the speeches are bright Avitli grave Avit and pleasantries. 
The Puritans were not noted for their sense of the ludicrous, 
but the settlers at Plymouth were a shade less austere than 
those at Boston. That they had a species of grim humor, 
however, is evident from their methods of punishment. Thus 
one who had offended by the use of improper language had 
his tongue pinched for two hours in a cleft stick. The humor 
of the poem is of the quiet, homely sort, not broad nor forced. 
It scarcely makes us smile, so unobtrusive is it. It is just the 
sort of fun-making we should look for among a people with 
such strict religious views, and to whom life was such a seri- 
ous business. The author has evidently put far more sun- 
shine into his characters than he found in the originals. And 
yet there is throughout the poem that unobtrusive and pleas- 
ing under-note of sadness, deepening now and then into 
pathos, which is often noticed even in the happiest lives. 

AVith one exception, the poem is singularly free from book- 
ish influences. That exception is the Bible, from which there 
are a large number of quotations direct and indirect. The 
phraseology is full of scriptural words and allusions. But we 
must remember that the language of the Bible is merely the 
English of the time of King James I., so that a large part of 
the vocabulary of the characters may be simply that of the 



XXX INTRODUCTION. 

seventeenth century. The Puritans were not a literary peo- 
ple, but the effect of their one book upon their style was 
highly beneficial. " The Courtship " should be read Bible in 
hand. The pu2:>il who wishes to know more about the reli- 
gious atmosphere in which the Puritans lived, will do well to 
read Macaulay's brilliant essay on '"Milton," especially the 
last ten pages. lie will then understand what the sacred 
writings meant to a sect who found in them almost their sole 
means of intellectual and spiritual culture. 

§ G. Figures of ^peecli. 

Imagery is frequently used in poetry. Its purpose is to 
ornament the style and to give life and vigor to the thought. 
Figures are to a poet what colors are to a painter. Poetic 
thought is, on the whole, more condensed, and appeals more 
to the imagination than prose work, and figures are a con- 
venient means of reaching those ends. Sometimes they have 
an argumentative value, because they make the subject clearer 
and more convincing. 

Longfellow's figures of speech are generally of a homely 
and familiar kind. They are pictorial in their effect, and 
give pleasure to the mind by suggesting a comparison between 
objects not usually associated together. Thus we find many 
striking similes. In these the resemblance is indicated by as 
or like, as in — 

(a) " Brown as a nut was his face," I. 13. 

{h) " Where thumb-marks . . . like the trample of feet," I. 79, 80. 
(c) " To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving and dashing, 
As in a foundering ship, . . . washes the bitter sea," III. 8-10. 
{(I) " The carded wool like a snow-drift," III. 44. 

In each of these examples two objects are brought together 
in thought and a ground of comparison is discovered. In 
(c) there is a relation of the objects something like a pro- 
portion with its equality of ratios — A : B : : C : D ; thus, 
thought : breast : : sea : ship. In III. 16, 17, one member of 



INTKODUCTIOK XXxi 

the prpportioii is imi[)\ied—p7ia?itom : heart : : exhalation : 
[marsh]. It will be observed that each figure produces a 
certain definite effect, conveying a more vivid impression of 
color, number, size, shape, movement, etc. 

There is a second class of figures called metaphors. Here 
the similarity of one object to another is more concisely stated 
with a gain in force. A metaphor is thus an abridged simile. 
For example, in I. 13, 14, a set of four objects are brought 
into relation to one another; viz., [gray hairs] : heard : : snoiv- 
fiahes : hedges. Other uses are " sinews of iron,'' I. 12; " my 
brazen howitzer ... a preacher,'' I. 46, 47; '^ robins 
were building towns in the populous trees," III. 3, 4; 'Hhe 
mayflowers blooming around him . . . children lost in 
the woods," III. 26-28. 

Still a different kind of figure is found in I. 81, '* Nothing 
was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling." 
There the cause {the pen) is put for the effect (the sound). 
In VII. 80, ^' death unseen ran before it," the effect (death) 
is put for the cause (bullet). This figure is known as meton- 
ymy, which means a change of name, and the idea is named 
by an accompaniment which serves the writer's purpose better. 

Another figure called synecdoche is seen in lY. 80, ''You, 
who lived under my roof," and in lY. 81, "You, who have 
fed at my board," in which a part of some object or the mate- 
rial (7'oof, board) is put for the whole (house, table). 

There is a figure called allegory, which is a sort of continued 
metaphor, used by Longfellow in lY. 105: "God hath sifted 
three kingdoms (i.e., England, Scotland, and Holland) to find 
the wheat for this planting, then had sifted the wheat, as the 
living seed of a nation." In a perfect allegory all mention 
of the real object in the writer's mind is omitted. A better 
illustration may be seen in Psalm Ixxx., "Thou hast brought 
a vine out of Egypt," etc. 

In lY. 10, 11, "AVelcome, wind of the East!" etc., is 
a beautiful specimen of apostrophe, which consists in personi- 



XXX 11 INTRODUCTION. 

fying some inanimate object and then addressing it. It thus 
includes the figure called personification. In the passage 
quoted Alden thinks of the wind as a living being, and calls 
upon it to wrap him in its mist-garments. Another similar 
use is seen in V. 99: "Float, hand of cloud, and vanish 
away in the ether! '' 

§ 7. The Meter: 

When we begin to read poetry aloud, we become aware that 
one of the great differences between poetry and prose lies in 
what is called meter. Another difference lies in rhyme; but 
although rhyme is common in poetry, it is not necessary. 
Much of the world's greatest poetry has no rhyme. The 
poetry of the Greeks and Ilomans had none; the poetry of 
the Hebrews had none. Much English poetry has none, as, 
for example, "Evangeline" and "The Courtship of Miles 
Sfcandish." Modern English poetry, however, almost invari- 
ably has meter. 

Meter is practically but another name for rhythm in poetry. 
We use the word " rhythm " for other things than poetry; we 
mean by it a regular recurrence of sounds and intervals. We 
might speak of " the rhythm of the surf upon the beach," 
meaning the regularly recurring sound of the breakers. In 
poetry the regular recurrence is called meter or rhythm, the 
former being a more definite word. 

In English, rhythm is the regular recurrence of accented 
syllables among unaccented syllables. In prose the accent of 
the words is not regular; the accents in a sentence come at 
no fixed interval. But in poetry the accents come at intervals 
that we can realize. 

" On the mountains of the Prairie, on the great Red Pipe-stone 
Quarry, Gitche Manito the Mighty, he the Master of Life descending, on 
the red crags of the quarry, stood erect and called the nations, called 
the tribes of men together." 

1 Adapted by permission from the introduction to Evangeline, pp. 16-19. (S. L, Series, 
No. 21.) , 



INTRODUCTION, XXXIU 

In these lines from Longfellow's *' Hiawatha/ ' the fact that 
they are printed as prose will not conceal the fact that the 
accent falls regularly on every other syllable, beginning with 
the first. Sometimes it is not a very strong accent, as in the 
fourth word, of ; but even on of there is more accent than 
on the syllables -tains and the just before and after it. In 
'^ Master of Life " there are two syllables between the accents, 
but generally the recurrence is so regular that we become 
accustomed to it and hardly notice a slight variation. It is 
usual in writing and printing poetry to divide it into lines, 
commonly with an equal number of accents in each line, and 
the disposition of the accents in the line is taken as the basis 
for the meter. 

There are many different arrangements of rhythms, differ- 
ing in the arrangement of the accented and unaccented sylla- 
bles. The meter of ''The Courtship" is called hexameter, 
because there are six accents to the line. In the hexameter, 
as written in English, we have a recurrence of accented sylla- 
bles, with sometimes one unaccented syllable following, some- 
times two. It is also the rule of the meter that the line shall 
begin with an accented syllable, and that the last accent but 
one of each line shall be followed by two unaccented syllables 
and the last by one only. If, then, we represent an accented 
syllable by a, an unaccented syllable by x, we may write the 
scheme of the hexameter line as follows: 

ax or axx, ax or axx, ax or axx, ax or axx, axx, ax. 

To show how the meter really sounds, let us take the first 
line of •' The Courtship of Miles Standish ' ' : 

"In the Old Colony days in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims." 

The first syllable has the accent, and each accented syllable 
is followed by one or two unaccented syllables. The first, 
second, fourth, and fifth feet have one accented and two 



XXXI V INTRODUCTION. 

unaccented syllables; and the third and sixth feet have one 
accented and one unaccented syllable. 

" To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling." 

Here the first and sixth have one unaccented syllable follow- 
ing the accented one. 

" Clad in doublet and hose, azid boots of Cordovan leather." 

In this line only the second and fifth feet have the three syl- 
lables, while all the others have two. If we write the first 
three lines with a and x, as above, we shall scan them thus : 



axx 


axx 


ax 


axx 


axx 


ax 


ax 


axx 


axx 


axx 


axx 


ax 


ax 


axx 


ax 


ax 


axx 


ax 



Let us read a number of lines, noting the accent. We find 
that it falls on the syllables that would be accented in prose, 
but that the words are so arranged as to have this regular 
recurrence, which gives the language a special character. 

In scanning and reading the hexameter the following points 
should be noticed : 

1. There is almost always about the middle of a line a short 
pause, which gives a pleasant effect; it is called a ccBsura. 
The line is long; this divides it. But the variation in plac- 
ing the pause does away with monotony. 

2. One must not mark the ends of the lines strongly unless 
there is a punctuation mark. 

" Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already 
i Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November." 

I., 18, 14. 

Here, as often, the reader should run right on from one line 
to another without pause. 

3. The line usually ends axx ax, and any variation occurs 
in the first four feet. But II. 4, and III. 61, end ax, ax — 



INTRODUCTION. XXXV 

"After a. while he exclaimed, as he smote with his liand, palm down- 
wards." 
" Let not him that putteth his hand to the plough look backwards." 

Both of these lines move smoothly up to the caesural pause, 
then descend abruptly, almost harshly. This is caused by the 
fifth foot having only one unaccented syllable. 

4. Other lines show special but appropriate effects, e.g.: 

'^Sudden and loud as the sound ot a so/cZi'er grounding his musket," 
II. 38 (alliteration). 

^^ And at the end of the street, the Aillage church," etc., III., 90 
(light, unaccented beginning). 

" 3Ie, Miles Standish, your friend! have snpjjlanfed, defrauded, Le- 
trayed tne," IV. 76 (harsh but emphatic). 

*' Up leaped the Captain of Plymouth, and stamped on the floor," IV. 
71 (abrupt). 

"Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers," \I. 33 
(gliding). 

"Strange is the heart of num," etc., V. 89, 00 (repetition and em- 
phasis). 

When one has become accustomed to the movement of the 
hexameter, it is not at all difficult to scan except in a few 
cases. The meter, however, has some inconveniences, the 
most important of which arise from the fact that the line 
must begin with an accent. Now an English sentence some- 
times begins with an accent, but rather more often it does 
not. One will easily notice, by reading a good number of 
sentences, that less than half begin with an accented syllable. 
Hence the poet will often find a difficulty in beginning the 
line with a sentence, and yet he may often wish to do so. 
Longfellow gets around the difficulty in three ways, none 
good in their effect. 

1. He puts an unnatural accent on the first word. 

"While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and 
matchlock," I. 10. 



XXX VI INTRODUCTION. 

2. He inverts the usual word-order. 

" Brown as a nut was his face," I. 13. 
'* Strange is the life of man," V. 89. 
" Silent and moody he went," VII. 6. 

[nversion is often met with in poetry, and is not displeasing. 
It should occur but seldom, and then to give emphasis. But 
Vhen often used it ceases to be emphatic; for we become 
Hccustomed to it, and it becomes a conventionality. 

3. He begins a sentence or a clause in the middle of the 
line, and lets it run over into the next. In itself there is no 
harm in this practice, but it tends to diffnseness. That is to 
feay, the habit of running the sentence over the line to the 
next, tends to accustom one to ending a sentence in the mid- 
dle of a line. It is then necessary to begin a new sentence, 
und this usually runs over into the next line, and so the 
temptation is to run on and on, and spin the story out. 

These, however, are but slight drawbacks and will not 
greatly bar one's enjoyment of the poem. 

§ 8. Chro7iological Outline of the Life of Longfelloiv, 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was the second son of Judge 
Stephen Longfellow, a Federalist and Congressman (1822-24), 
and Miss Zilpah Wadsworth, a daughter of General Peleg 
Wadsworth, adjutant-general of Massachusetts during the 
Eevolutionary War, and a descendant of John Alden and 
Priscilla Mullens, two Pilgrims who came over in the ^'May- 
flower'' in 1620. ' 

1807. February 27. Born at Portland,' Maine. 

1813. Entered Portland Academy. Fond of Irving. 

1820. Published first verses in "Portland Gazette." 

1821. Entered Bowdoin College. A fine student and beloved 

by classmates. Showed strong literary bent. 
1824-25. Contributed "Hymn of the Moravian Nuns" and 
other pieces to the " United States Literary Gazette " 
of Boston. 



INTRODUCTION. XXXVU 

1825. Graduated fourth in a class of thirty-eight, including 
Hawthorne. Aspired after literary fame. Read 
law in his father's office. 

1826-29. Elected Professor of Modern Languages in Bow- 
doin. Went to Europe to fit himself for the chair. 
Visited France, Spain, Italy, Germany, and Eng- 
land, and studied languages, customs, etc. 

1828-33. Taught in Bowdoin with graceful dignity, inspir- 
ing his students with afi'ection. 

1833-34. Published, in the "North American Ileview," 
'" Outre Mer," a prose record of his European 
travels. AVrote linguistic and grammatical works, 
1830-32. Translated Manrique's " Coplas."' 

1831. Married Miss Mary Storer Potter, of Portland, a lovely 

and highly educated woman. 

1832. Read poem on education, "The Past and the Pres- 

ent," before the Phi Beta Kapj^a Society at Bow- 
doin Commencement. 

1833. Repeated the same by request at Harvard. 

1835. Elected Professor of Modern Languages and Litera- 

tures in Harvard College to succeed George Ticknor. 
AVent to Europe to study the languages of Holland, 
Germany, and Sweden. November : Mrs. Long- 
fellow died in Rotterdam : the poet's first great 
sorrow, commemorated in "Footsteps of Angels." 

1836. December. Returned to Cambridge, with quarters in 

the old Craigie House, built 1756. Taught Avith 
great success in Harvard. 
1839. Published "Hyperion, a Romance," a prose diary of 
his German travels, introducing German legends, 
lyrics, and life to Americans. Published "Voices 
of the Night," containing "The Psalm of Life," 
" The Reaper and the Flowers," etc. 

1841. Published "Ballads and Other Poems," which con- 

tained such favorites as " The Skeleton in Armor," 
" The Wreck of the Hesperus," " Excelsior," " The 
Village Blacksmith," etc. 

1842. AVent to Europe, and studied mediaeval literature. 

Published " Poems on Slavery.'' 

1843. Married Miss Frances Elizabeth Appleton, a beautiful 

and accomplished lady of Boston, whom he had met 
in Europe in 1835. She w^as the original of Mary 



XXXVUl INTEODUCTION. 

Ashburton in "Hyperion." They had five cliil- 
dren. Published " The Spanish Student," a drama 
to be read. 

1845. Edited an anthology of "The Poets and Poetry of 
Europe," containing 400 verse translations from ten 
languages. He was assisted by Prof. C. C. Felton. 
Birth of his son Ernest, who became a distinguished 
artist. Published "The Waif." December: Pub- 
lished "The Belfry of Bruges, and Other Poems," 
containing "Nuremberg," "The Day is Done," 
" The Arsenal at Springfield," " The bid Clock on 
the Stairs," etc., some of his best work. 

1847. Published " Evangeline," a long poem of Acadia in 
hexameters, which Holmes considered his master- 
piece. Published " The Estray." Attacked by Poe 
for plagiarism, and satirized by the "Dial" as 
"a dandy Pindar." A period of literary dearth, 
1848-49. 

1849. Published "Kavanagh," an unsuccessful prose tale, 

})raised by Hawthorne. 

1850. Published " Seaside and Fireside," which includes 

"The Building of the Ship"; " Pesignation," in 
memory of his daughter Fanny. His poems yield 
a comfortable income. 

1851. Published "The Golden Legend," a story from the 

Minnesinger Hartmann von der Aue, giving a vivid 
picture of Christianity in tlie thirteenth century. 
It was the first part of the trilogy " Christus.' ' 

1854. Pesigued his chair in Harvard College to devote him- 

self exclusively to literature. Author was at his 
intellectual prime. 

1855. Published "The Song of Hiawatha," an epic poem 

treating the old Indian legends: a~ great literary 

sensation. 
1858. Published " The Courtship of Miles Standish," " The 

Ladder of St. Augustine," "The Two Angels," 

"Children," etc. 
1801. Death of his wife, whose clothes caught fire from a 

candle. Begins to translate the great Italian poet 

Dante. 
1803. Published " Tales of a Wayside Inn," Part I.; in 1872 

Part XL, and in 1873 Part III. A collection of stories 



INTRODUCTION. XXXIX 

, borrowed from mediagval, Talmndic, and modern 
sources; includes the famous '' Paul Revere's Ride," 
"The Falcon of Ser Federigo,'' ''King Robert of 
Sicily," "Torquemado," etc. 

1867. Published '' Flower-de-Luce." Translated Dante's 

''Divine Comedy" 1867-70. 

1868. Published "The ]N"ew England Tragedies," a depress- 

ing poetical record of deeds of cruelt}^, delusion, and 
intolerance; Part II. of "Christus." 
1868-09. Last trip to Europe, covered with honors and 
attentions; received LL.D. from Cambridge, and 
D.C.L. from Oxford; met Queen Victoria. 

1871. Published "The Divine Tragedy," Part III. of 

" Christus." 

1872. Edited '' Poems of Places," in thirtv-one volumes. 
1871. Published "Aftermath." 

187."). Published " Morituri Salutamus," on fiftieth anniver- 
sary of his class at Bowdoin; " The Hanging of the 
Crane," "The Masque of Pandora." 

1878. Published "Keramos," a poem in the style of Schil- 
ler's "TheBelL" 

1880. Published " Ultima Thule." 

1881. Published " In the Harbor." 

1882. March 24: Died at Cambridge of peritonitis; buried 

in Mt. Auburn Cemetery; a statue has been since 
erected to him in Portland, and a bust of him in 
Poet's Corner in Westminster Abbey (1881). He 
left two sons and two daughters. 

1884. "Michael Angelo," a posthumous volume, published. 

1886-90. Publication of complete edition of his poems in 
eleven volumes. Publication of Longfellow's '' Life 
and Journals," edited by his brother Samuel. 

1887. " Final Memorials," published by his brother; also 
"A Biographical Sketch," by F. II. Underwood of 
Boston. 

§ 9. Lo)iyfellofv's Poetry — Various Critical Opinions of Ids 
Mind and Art. 

AN AMERICAN POET. 

As one meditates upon the full exercise of his poetic gift, 
one is likely to feel that this beloved singer's just claim U2)on 



xl INTRODrCTiON. 

the affectionate memory of after time is due to his felicitous 
handling of subjects, humorous or tragic, which get their 
rootage in American soil. Despite much culture and a cos- 
mopolitan range of themes, Longfellow stands forth as a rep- 
resentative poet of our earlier period, because he drew the 
inspiration for his best work from motives lying ready to hand 
in his own country. Neither Whittier nor Holmes, neither 
Emerson nor Lowell, are more American in this sense. . . . 
The delightful narrative poem of ** The Courtship of Miles 
Standish " is one of those typical creations we have in mind. 
It is a rendering playful, yet tender, realistic in setting, yet 
touched with romance, of a story from our early colonial history, 
in which characters, who are in danger of being names and 
nothing more in the hands of the formal chronicler, are 
brought near to us and made warm and sympathetic by means 
of imaginative presentation, — Eichard Buetok. 



AN" APOSTLE OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 

We shall think rightly of Longfellow's poetry if we remem- 
ber what it was to the American people of his time. Long- 
fellow served to awaken and kindle the taste and feeling of 
the American people for what was poetic and beautiful. Not 
that no one in America had enjoyed poetry and beauty before 
Longfellow — far from that. But no one had expressed it in 
America as he expressed it; we had no great poets before 
Longfellow. Indeed, as a people, we had very little poetic 
appreciation. Longfellow was a sort of Apostle. He showed 
us much. He was a Discoverer in our behalf; a Discoverer, 
as I have said, of the Beautiful in life. So he was a great 
educator; he attuned the mind of our people to the beautiful 
and the ideal. 

Something of the same sort is Longfellow apt to be to every 
one of us. We all read Longfellow early in life, often in 
school, before we have read much else, before we have seen 
much of this world that the poets write of. It is an impres- 
sionable age. Longfellow moulds our taste. He delights us, 
and it is from him that we learn a kind of delight different 
from the ordinary pleasures of life. He is simple and direct. 
We read his beautiful verse without difficulty; it seems nat- 
ural, and we become habituated to poetic thought and to 
poetic form. Later in life, if we desire, we may pass from 



INTRODUCTION. xli 

his exquisite and gracious mood to poets of a more profound 
or a more passionate nature. But Longfellow never loses his 
place with us. He is the guide who first led us to the en- 
chanted country, the interpreter who first made us under- 
stand its language. — Edward E. Hale, Jr. 

THE METER. 

The poet's friends told him he must take a famih'ar meter, 
that hexameters ''would never do.'' He found, as reported 
by David Machrae, that his "thoughts would run in hexam- 
eters" and declared that the measure would '^take root in 
English soil." " It is a measure," he said, '^that suits all 
themes. It can fly low like a swallow, and at any moment 
dart skyward. AVhat fine hexameters we have in the Bible : 
' Husbands, love your wives, and be not bitter against them ; ' 
and this line, ' God is gone up with a shout, the Lord with 
the sound of a trumpet.' Nothing could be grander than 
that!" 

Over-dactylic, and therefore monotonous, as Longfellow's 
hexameters often are, tliey have tlie merit of being smooth to 
read, without analysis, like any other English verse. This 
primary easy lilt was needed for an introduction, until, stage 
by stage, the popular ear should be wonted to more varied 
forms. . . 

"The Courtship of Miles Standish " was an advance upon 
" Evangeline,'' so far as concerns structure and the distinct 
characterization of personages. A merit of the tale is the 
frolicsome humor here and there, lighting up the gloom that 
blends with our conception of the Pilgrim inclosure, and we 
see that comic and poetic elements are not at odds in the 
scheme of a bright imagination. The verse, though stronger, 
is more labored than that of "Evangeline"; some of the 
lines are prosaic, almost inadmissible. — Edmund Clarence 
Stedman. 

a literary prediction. 

We hope that Mr. Longfellow may live a great many years 
yet, and give us a great many more books. We shall not 
undertake to pass a sentence which he may compel us to 
revise. We shall only say that he is the most popular of 
American poets, and that this popularity may safely be 



xlii INTRODUCTION". 

assumed to contain in itself the elements of permanence, since 
it has been fairly earned, without any of that subservience to 
the baser tastes of the public which characterizes the quack of 
letters. His are laurels honorably gained and gently worn. 
Without comparing him Avith others, it is enough if we de- 
clare our conviction that he has composed poems which will 
live as long as the language in which they are written. — 
James Russell Lowell (1849). 

opixiox of an english novelist. 

The story of Miles Standish and of John Alden is as old as 
the hills, but it never was told with a clearer or more deliber- 
ate purpose, nor in the telling of it were the feelings of the 
three persons concerned made more conspicuous. ... I 
do not intend to say that the story as told by Longfellow is 
deficient in pathos. No such story could be told by him so as 
to want it altogether. But the Avhole tale of John Alden — 
for he is the hero, and not Miles Standish — is narrated in the 
language of ordinary life, for which the Latin hexameters are 
hardly fitted. The history is given with great rapidity, and 
yet seems to include all that there is to be said. Indeed, the 
story as a story is admirably complete. '" Evangeline " is not 
complete. It is vague and wandering, and given only in 
parts, whereas '' Miles Standish " is round and finished from 
beginning to end. — x\nthony Tkollope (1881). 

ITS STRONG INDIVIDUALITY. 

The poet keeps throughout the grace and subtle power of 
the poet; he keeps all that was ever his own, even to the love 
of profuse simile, and the quaint doubt of his reader implied 
by the elaborated meaning; and he loses only the tints and 
flavors not thoroughly assimilated or not native in him. 
Throughout is the same habit of recondite and scholarly allu- 
sion, the same quick sympathy with the beautiful in simple 
and common things, the same universality, the same tender- 
ness for country and for home. Over all presides individual- 
ity superior to accidents of resemblance, and distinguishing 
each poem with traits unmistakably and only the author's; 
and the equality in the long procession of his beautiful 
thoughts never wearies, but is like that of some fine bas-relief. 



INTRODUCTION. xllU 

in which the varying allegory reveals one manner and many 
inspirations. — William Dean Howells. 

TOPICS FOR STUDY AND REVIEW QUESTIONS. 

I. Sources. — 1. Where did Longfellow get the characters 
of his story? 2. Determine the place and time of the action. 
3. What connection does the story have with the poet's family 
history? 4. Does the poem depict the painful or the pleasant 
side of colonial life? 5. How are two events, the sailing of 
the " Mayflower/' in 1621, and the raid against the Indians, 
in 1G23, connected ? G. How many actual events does Long- 
fellow nse ? 

II. Plot. — 1. Show constrnction of the plot hy table of 
events or by inverted A, the angle representing the climax 
and the two arms the coynjMcation and resolution. 2. Indi- 
cate each crisis in the poem. 3. Where has the anthor re- 
arranged incidents to suit his plot? 4. Write a paragraph 
narrating the story told in Part III. or IV. 5. Show how 
Part v. contains the climax and pivot of the story. 6. Where 
in Part I. is preparation made for Part Y. ? 7. Whom do yon 
think the hero of the poem ? Why ? 8. How is the report of 
Standish's death received by the lovers? 9. Xote the number 
of surprises in the latter half of the poem. 10. How much 
time elapses between Parts I. and Y.\ between Parts VII. and 
IX.? 11. Give three reasons for Standish's going away from 
Plymouth in Part VII. 12. How are we informed of events 
that happened before the opening scene in Part I. ? 13. Find 
five passages descriptive of natural scenery; show color and 
landscape effects of each; and point out connection between 
scenes and episodes. 14. Did Alden deliver his message to 
Priscilla as Standish expected ? 

III. Character Drawing. — 1. Study the characterization 
of Priscilla by the description of her, by her previous conduct, 
by what she says to Alden, by what she does. 2. Why does 
she love Alden rather than Standish ? 3. In social rank and 



xliv INTEODUCTION. 

property which was more her equal ? 4. Study the conflict 
between love and frie7idship m the mind of Alden. 5. Write 
a paragraph on Standish's changes of feeling toward Alden. 
6. What do you consider the cliief motive or moral of the 
poem ? 7. What other lessons are taught ? 8. What does the 
poet, in the person of Priscilla, show to be the special office, 
duty, and influence of woman in her relation to man ? 9. How 
many traits has Priscilla peculiar to herself, i.e., individual, 
and how many that are typical of all women and universal? 
10. Are the three chief persons fixed types, or do they change, 
or grow ? 11. Compare differences of occupation, dress, cus- 
tom, and manners in the seventeenth century from the nine- 
teenth. 12. Which scenes do you think the most humorous, 
the most touching, the most interesting, the most beautiful? 
13. Compare the rival lovers, in intellect, heart, feeling, 
energy, sensitiveness, courage, refinement, generosity, un- 
selfishness. 14. At which crisis does Priscilla help Alden? 
15. Study the characters of the Indians in Part YII. 

IV. Miscellaneous. — 1. Look up the meaning of such 
words as matcJilock, douUet, ivampum, azure-eyed, gules, 
thwarts, inkliorn, sagamore, ominous, homespu7i, subterra- 
nean, etc. 2. Bead the quotations from the Bible. 3. Find 
other examples of the various figures of speech than those 
given in the introduction. 4. Scan any ten lines of the poem. 
5. Commit to memory any dozen lines that you care for. 
(Other questions will suggest themselves to the teacher ad 
libituin.) 

G. A. W. 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES 
STAI^DISH. 



MILES sta:n'dish. 

In" the Old Colony ' days, in Plymouth ^ the land of the Pil- 
grims/ 
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling/ 
Clad in doublet and hose/ and boots of Cordovan*' leather, 
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Cap- 
tain. 
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, 
and pausing 5 

Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare. 
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, — 

1 Old Colony was the territory in eastern Massachusetts occupied by the Plymouth 
colonists. 

2 This town, the oldest in New England, is situated on the harbor of the same name 
on the coast of Massachusetts about thirty-five miles southeast of Boston. 

3 The Pilgrims, or Forefathers, were those emigrants who came to America early in 
the seventeenth century on account of religious differences in England, and founded the 
Old Colony. The " Mayflower'" arrived first with one hundred persons on board, includ- 
ing John Alden, Priscilla, and Miles Standish, who disembarked December 21, 1620. 
The "Fortune" came next, in November, 1621, with twenty-nine passengers; and the 
" Anne " and the " Little James " brought forty-six more in August, 1623. 

4 The colonists built their first houses of rough-hewn logs filled in with mortar ; the 
roofs were thatched, and oiled paper was used instead of glass. 

" From the fifteenth to the seventeenth century the costume for men included hose or 
breeches, reaching to the knees, and a doublet, which was a close-fitting garment, double 
or wadded, covering the body from neck to a little below the waist. 

« Cordova, a city and province in southwestern Spain, gave its name to a fine quality 
of leather manufactured from goat-skin by the Moors. Cordwainer, an English name for 
shoemaker, is derived from Cordovan. 



2 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Cutlass ' and corselet' of steel, and his trusty sword of Damas- 
cus/ 

Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic 
sentence. 

While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece,* musket, 
and matchlock." 10 

Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic, 

Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews 
of iron; 

Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already 

Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in Novem- 
ber/ 

Near him was seated John Alden,' his friend and household 
companion, 15 

Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window; 

Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion, 

1 A short, curved sword used by sailors. 

2 A coat-of-mail, or piece of armor, consisting of breastplate and backpiece, worn by 
pike-men to protect the body. 

3 Formerly the capital of Syria in Asiatic Turkey, and one of the oldest cities in the 
world. It was renowned for its sword-blades, which were made of such finely tempered 
steel that the point could be made to touch the hilt without breaking. They were often 
engraved with phrases from the Koran, The Pilgrim Society of Plymouth and the Mas- 
sachusetts Historical Society both exhibit the alleged " identical sword-blade used by 
Miles Standish '" ! 

* A light gun for shooting water-fowl or other birds. 

s A form of musket invented about the end of the fourteenth century. It was fired by 
bringing a slow match of twisted rope fixed in a crooked iron lever into contact with the 
powder-pan, the lid of which was thrown forward by the hand. It was a very uncertain 
weapon in time of wind or rain, and was replaced by the flintlock about 1650. 

« Miles Standish (1584-1G56) was born in England ; fought in the Netherlands in their 
heroic struggle against the King of Spain, emigrated to New England in 1620 ; took a 
leading part in the wars with the Indians ; visited England for supplies (1625-1626) ; was 
magistrate of Duxbury, and aided in the settlement of Bridgewater. He is mentioned in 
Bradford's and Winslow's Jonryml, which was printed in Young's Chronicles of the Pil- 
grims. Little else is known with certainty of his history. 

7 Jolm Alden (1.599-1687) was born in England, emigrated to New England in 1620 ; 
married Priscilla Mullens ; was a magistrate for over fifty years, and was active in the 
management of the new colony. He was one of the signers of the compact in the cabin 
of the "Mayflower.'" 



MILES STANDISH. 3 

Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the 
captives 

Whom Saint Gregory^ saw, and exclaimed, " Not Angles but 
Angels." 

Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the " May- 
flower."^ 20 

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe inter- 
rupting. 

Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain 
of Plymouth. 

*' Look at these arms," he said, ''the warlike wea^^ons that 
hang liere 

Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection! 

This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders;' 
this breastplate, 25 

Well I remember the day! once saved my life in a skirmish; 

Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet 

Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero." 

1 St. Gregory the Great (540 ?-r)04), Pope, and author of a book, Cura Pastoralis, 
which was translated by King Alfred the Great. The story of Gregory and the English 
slaves is thus told by Greene : Years ago, when but a young deacon, Gregory had noted 
the white bodies, the fair faces, the golden hair of some youths who stood bound in the 
market-place of Rome. "From what country do these slaves come?" he asked the 
traders who brought them. "They are English, Angles ! " the slave-dealers answered. 
The deacon's pity veiled itself in poetic humor. "Not Angles, but Angels," he said, 
" with faces so angel-like ! '"— History of the E?iglish People, p. 54. Gregory wished to 
go as a missionary to Britain, but was restrained by the Pope. Seven yeais after his elec- 
tion as Pope (597) he sent St. Augustine with forty monks to Ethelbert, King of Kent, 
who was baptized with 10,000 of his subjects in the space of a year. 

2 The ship which conveyed the Pilgrims from Southampton to Plymouth in 1620. It 
was a vessel of about 180 tons burden, and was named from the mayflower, which is the 
English hawthorn. In America the mayflower is the trailing arbutus. 

3 Flanders, also called the Low Countries, or Netherlands, an ancient country of 
Europe extending along the North Sea from the Strait of Dover to the mouth of the 
Schelde, and including Belgium and parts of Holland and France. Its territory has varied 
much in extent. 

4 A soldier armed with an arcpiebus, or ancient hand gun ; also used loosely of a mus- 
keteer. 



4 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles 

Standish 
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flem- 
ish morasses." 30 
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his 

writing: 
** Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of 

the bullet; 
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our 

weapon! " ' 
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the 

stripling: 
" See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal 

hanging; 35 

That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others. 
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent 

adage; 
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your ink- 
horn." 
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army. 
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest^ and his 

matchlock, 40 

Eighteen shillings* a month, together with diet and pillage. 
And, like Caesar,^ I know the name of each of my soldiers! " 

1 The Bible was the one great book of the Puritans, and its phraseology became uncon- 
sciously a part of their thoughts and speech. Cf. the language of Alden with Psalms, 
xxxiii. 6, 20. 

2 In the seventeenth century pens were commonly made of quills and ink-bottles of 
horn. 

3 The support upon which the heavy matchlock was rested while being fired. 

* About four dollars and a half ; but money was worth from three to five times as 
much at that time. 

* Caius Julius Caesar, born 100 B.C., killed at Rome by Brutus, Cassius, and other con- 
spirators, 44 B.C. He was not only the first general and statesman of his age, but also, 
with the exception of Cicero, the greatest orator. He was also an accomplished mathe- 
matician, philologist, jurist, and architect, and the author of the famous Commentaries 
on the Gallic and Civil Wars, mentioned in 1. 70. 



MILES STANDISH. 5 

This he "said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sun- 
beams 

Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment. 

Aid en laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued : 45 

"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer' 
planted 

High on the roof of the church, a preacher who sjoeaks to the 
purpose. 

Steady, straightforward, and strong, with irresistible logic. 

Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the hearts of the 
heathen. 

Now we are ready, I think, for any assault of the Indians: 50 

Let them come, if they like, and the sooner they try it the 
better, — 

Let them come if they like, be it sagamore, sachem, or pow- 
wow,^ 

Aspinet, Samoset, Oorbitant, Squanto, or Tokamahamon ! "^ 

Long at the window he stood, and wistfully gazed on the 
landscape. 

Washed with a cold gray mist, the vapory breath of the east- 
wind, 55 

Forest and meadow and hill, and the steel-blue rim of the 
ocean. 

Lying silent and sad, in the afternoon shadows and sunshine. 

Over his countenance flitted a shadow like those on the land- 
scape. 

Gloom intermingled with light; and his voice was subdued 
with emotion, 

1 A short, light cannon designed to throw large projectiles with comparatively small 
charges. The planting of the howitzer on the meeting-honse occurred some time after 
the time of this poem. The settlement was fortified by five guns mounted on a platform 
on a neighboring hill. 

2 A sachem was chief of a tribe ; a sagamore, of a lower rank ; and a pow-wow, a medi- 
cine man and conjuror. 

3 These names were taken by the poet from the early histories of the colony. 



() THE COURTSHIP OF 

Tenderness, pity, regret, as after a pause he proceeded: 60 

"■ Yonder there, on the hill by the sea, lies buried Rose Stan- 
dish; 

Beautiful rose of love, that bloomed for me by the wayside! 

She was the first to die of all who came in the ' Mayflower! ' 

Green above her is growing the field of wheat we have sown 
there, 

Better to hide from the Indian scouts the graves of our 
people, 65 

Lest they should count them and see how many already have 
perished! " ' 

Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down, and was 
thoughtful. 

Fixed to the opposite wall was a shelf of books, and among 
them 

Prominent three, distinguished alike for bulk and for bind- 
ing; 

Barriffe's " Artillery Guide," '^ and the *' Commentaries of 
Caesar," 70 

Out of the Latin translated by Arthur Goldinge^ of London, 

And, as if guarded by these, between them was standing the 
Bible. 

Musiug a moment before them, Miles Standish paused, as if 
doubtful 

Which of the three he should choose for his consolation and 
comfort, 

1 The colonists suflEered terribly during the first winter here referred to (1620-21), and 
about fifty out of a hundred of them died. Dr. Abiel Holmes, in his Annals of America, 
records how the survivors buried the dead on a hill near the beach and left the graves 
unmarked, so that the weakness of the colony might not be perceived by the Indians. 

2 Colonel William Barriffe's Militarie Biscipline ; or, The Young Artillery Man, a 
work containing a system of tactics for gunners, musketeers, and pikemen. The author 
was a Puritan and added to the title of his book an appropriate passage of Scripture- 
Psalms, cxliv. 1. 

3 Arthur Golding (1536?-1605?), an English writer and friend of Sir Philip Sidney. He 
is remembered for his translations of Ovid, Caisar, and De Mornay. 



MILES STAN DISH. 7 

Whether the wars of the Hebrews, the famous campaigns of 

the Romans, 75 

Or the artillery j^ractice, designed for belligerent Christians. 
Finally down from its shelf he dragged the ponderous Roman, 
Seated himself at the window, and opened the book, and in 

silence 
Turned o'er the well-worn leaves, where thumb-marks thick 

on the margin, 
Like the trample of feet, proclaimed the battle was hottest. 80 
Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the 

stripling, 
Busily writing epistles important, to go by the " Mayflower," 
Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at latest,' God 

willing! 
Homeward bound with the tidings of all that terrible winter. 
Letters written by Alden, and full of the name of Pris- 

cilla,^ 85 

Full of the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Pris- 

cilla! 

II. 

LOVE AND PRIEI^DSHIP. 

Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the 

stripling, 
Or an occasional sigh from the laboring heart of the Captain, 
Reading the marvellous words and achievements of Julius 

Cassar. 
After a while he exclaimed, as he smote with his hand, palm 

downwards. 
Heavily on the page: ^' A wonderful man was this Caesar! 5 
You are a writer, and I am a fighter, but here is a fellow 

1 The ship sailed on April 5, 1621, talking only her crew on the homeward voyage. 
This line fixes definitely the time of the story. 

" Among the emigrants on the " Mayflower " are mentioned : "Mr. William Midlines 
and his wife and two children, Joseph and Priscilla ; and a servant, Robart Carter." 



8 THE COUKTSHIP OF 

Who could both write and fight, and in both was equally 

skilful!" 
Straightway answered and spake John Alden, the comely, the 

youthful: 
" Yes, he was equally skilled, as you say, with his pen and 

his weapons. 
Somewhere have I read, but where I forget, he could dictate 10 
Seven letters at once, at the same time writing his memoirs." 
*' Truly," continued the Captain, not heeding or hearing the 

other, 
'' Truly a wonderful man was Caius Julius Caesar! 
Becter be first, he said, in a little Iberian ' village, 
Than be second in Eome,^ and I think he was right when he 

said it. 15 

Twice was he married before he was twenty, and many times 

after; 
Battles five hundred he fonght, and a thousand cities he con- 
quered ; 
He, too, fought in Flanders, as he himself has recorded; 
Finally he was stabbed by his friend, the orator Brutus! ^ 
Now, do you know Avhat he did on a certain occasion in 

Flanders, 20 

When the rear-guard of his army retreated, the front giving 

way too, 

1 Iberia was an ancient name of Spain. 

2 Plutarch thus relates the incident : " In his journey, as he was crossing the Alps and 
passing by a small village of the barbarians with but few inhabitants, and those wretch- 
edly poor, his companions asked the question among themselves by way of mockery if 
there were any canvassing for offices there ; any contention which should be uppermost, 
or feuds of great men one against another. To which Caesar made answer seriously, 
' For my part I had rather be the first man among these fellows, than the second man in 
Rome.' '"—Ccesar, in Lives of lllustiims Men, translated by Dryden, etc., vol. ii., page 
511. 

3 Marcus Junius Brutus (85-42 B.C.), a Roman soldier, statesman, and scholar. He 
was in turn an adherent of Pompey and Caesar, became governor of Cisalpine Gaul and 
afterwards City Praetor. He was in luced by Cassius, on the plea of patriotism, to take 
part in the assassination of his friend Caesar. After his defeat in the second battle at 
Philippi, he committed suicide. 



MILES STANDISH. 9 

And the immortal Twelfth Legion ^ was crowded so closely 

together 
There was no room for their swords ? Why, he seized a shield 

from a soldier. 
Put himself straight at the head of his troops, and commanded 

the captains, 
Calling on each by his name, to order forward the ensigns; 25 
Then to widen the ranks, and give more room for their 

weapons; 
So he won the day, the battle of something-or-other/ 
That's what I always say; if you wish a thing to be well 

done. 
You must do it yourself, yon must not leave it to others! " 

All was silent again; the Captain continued his reading. 30 
Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the 

stripling 
Writing epistles important to go next day by the " May- 
flower," 
Filled with the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden 

Priscilla; 
Every sentence began or closed with the name of Priscilla, 
Till the treacherons pen, to which he confided the secret, 35 
Strove to betray it by singing and shouting the name of Pris- 
cilla! 
Finally closing his book, with a bang of the ponderous cover. 
Sudden and loud as the sonnd of a soldier grounding his 

musket. 
Thus to the young man spake Miles Standish the Captain of 
Plymouth : 

^ A Roman legion, the mof?t perfect fighting machine of ancient times, was, in tlie first 
century b.c, composed of about 6,000 men, divided into ten cohorts, each of these into 
three maniples, and these in turn into two centuries. 

2 Ctesar's Commentaries, Book II., ciiap. x. 



10 THE COURTSHIP OF 

" When you have finished yon r work, I have something im- 
portant to tell you. 40 
13e not however in haste; I can wait; I shall not be impa- 
tient! " 
Straightway Alden replied, as he folded the last of his letters, 
Pushing his papers aside, and giving respectful attention: 
"Speak; for whenever you speak, I am always ready to 

listen, 
Always ready to hear whatever pertains to Miles Standish." 45 
Thereupon answered the Captain, embarrassed, and culling 

his phrases: 
" 'Tis not good for a man to be alone,' say the Scriptures. 
This I have said before, and again and again I repeat it; 
Every hour in the day, I think it, and feel it, and say it. 
Since Eose Standish died, my life has been weary and 
dreary ; 50 

Sick at heart have I been, beyond the healing of friendship. 
Oft in my lonely hours have I thought of the maiden Pris- 

cilla. 
She is alone in the world; her father and mother and brother 
Died in the winter together; ^ I saw her going and coming, 
Now to the grave of the dead, and now to the bed of the 
dying, 55 

Patient, courageous, and strong, and said to myself, that if ever 
There were angels on earth, as there are angels in heaven. 
Two have I seen and known; and the angel whose name is 

Priscilla 
Holds in my desolate life the i)lace which the other aban- 
doned. 
Long have I cherished the thought, but never have dared to 
reveal it, " 60 

1 Genesis ii., 18. '^ 

2 "Mr. Molines," says Bradford, "and his wife, his sone and his servant, dyed the 
first winter. Only his daughter Priscila survived and married with John Alden, who are 
both living and have 11 children.''— //is/or?/ of Plymouth Planlatio?!, p. 452. 




riUHtilKJ !'U C. II iiniujliton. 



IVlscilla. 



MILES STANDISH. 11 

Being a cowa7;d in this, though valiant enough for the most 
part. 

Go to the damsel Priscilla, the loveliest maiden of Plymouth, 

Say that a blunt old Captain, a man not of words but of 
actions. 

Offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier. 

Not in these words, you know, but this in short is my mean- 
ing; G5 

I am a maker of war, and not a maker of phrases. 

You, who are bred as a schohxr, can say it in elegant language. 

Such as you read in your books of the pleadings and wooings 
of lovers. 

Such as you think best adapted to win the heart of a 
maiden." 

When he had spoken, John Aldeu, the fair-haired, taciturn 
stripling, 70 

All aghast at his words, surprised, embarrassed, bewildered. 

Trying to mask his dismay by treating the subject with light- 
ness. 

Trying to smile, and yet feeling his heart stand still in his 
bosom, 

Just as a timepiece stops in a house that is stricken by light- 
ning, 

Thus made answer and spake, or rather stammered than 
answered : 75 

'^ Such a message as that, I am sure I should mangle and 
mar it; 

If you would have it well done, — I am only repeating your 
maxim, — 

You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others! " 

But with the air of a man whom nothing can turn from his 
purpose. 

Gravely shaking his head, made answer the Captain of Plym- 
outh: ' 80 



12 THE COURTSHIP OF 

" Truly the maxim is good, and I do not mean to gainsay it; 
But we must use it discreetly, and not waste powder for 

nothing. 
Now, as I said before, I was never a maker of phrases. 
I can march up to a fortress and summon the place to sur- 
render, 
But march up to a woman with such a proposal, I dare not. 85 
I'm not afraid of bullets, nor shot from the mouth of a can- 

nou. 
But of a thundering 'No!' point-blank from tlie mouth of 

a woman, 
That I confess I'm afraid of, nor am I ashamed to confess it! 
So you must grant my request, for you are an elegant 

scholar, 
Having the graces of speech, and skill in the turning of 

phrases." 90 

Taking the hand of his friend, who still was reluctant and 

doubtful, 
Holding it long in his own, and pressing it kindly, he added: 
" Though I have spoken thus lightly, yet deep is the feeling 

that prompts me; 
Surely you cannot refuse what I ask in the name of our 

friendship! " 
Then made answer John Alden: " The name of friendship is 

sacred ; 95 

AVhat you demand in that name, I have not the ]30wer to deny 

you!" 
So the strong will prevailed, subduing and moulding the 

gentler, 
Friendship prevailed over love, and Alden went on his errand. 



MILES STANDISH. 13 

III. 



So the strong will prevailed, and Aldeu went on liis errand, 
Out of the street of the village, and into the paths of the foreit, 
Into the tranquil woods, where bluebirds and robins were 

building 
Towns in the populous trees, with banging gardens' of ver- 
dure. 
Peaceful, aerial cities of joy and affection and freedom. 5 

All around liim w^as calm, but within him commotion and 

conflict. 
Love contending with friendship, and self with eacli generous 

impulse. 
To and fro in bis breast his thoughts were heaving and dash- 

As in a foundering ship, with every roll of the vessel. 
Washes the bitter sea, the merciless surge of the ocean! 10 
"Must I relinquish it all,'' he cried with a wild lamenta- 
tion, — 
" Must I relinquish it all, the joy,, the hope, the illusion ? 
Was it for this I have loved, and waited, and worshipped in 

silence? 
Was it for this I have followed the flying feet and the shadow 
Over the wintry sea, to the desolate shores of New England ? 15 
Truly the heart is deceitful, and out of its depths of corrup- 
tion 
Rise, like an exhalation, the misty phantoms of passion; 
Angels of light they seem, but are only delusions of Satan. 
All is clear to me now; I feel it, I see it distinctly! 

1 The hanging gardens of Babylon were regarded as one of Uie seven wonders of the 
ancient world. They were a mass of terraces supported by pillars and elaborate masonry, 
forming an artificial hill of pyramidal shape in the vast plain of the Euphrates. They 
had an area of four acres, and were covered with luxuriant vegetation of all kinds, which 
was irrigated from a reservoir at the summit of the whole. 



14 THE COURTSHIP OF 

This is the hand of the Lord; it is laid upon me iu anger, 20 
For I have followed too much the heart's desires and de- 
vices, 
Worshipping Astaroth ' blindly, and impious idols of Baal.^ 
This is the cross I must bear; the sin and the swift retribu- 
tion." 

So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his 

errand ; 
Crossing the brook at the ford, where it brawled over pebble 

and shallow, 25 

Gathering still, as he went, the Mayflowers blooming around 

him. 
Fragrant, filling the air with a strange and wonderful sweet- 
ness, 
Children lost in the woods, and covered with leaves in their 

slumber/ 
*' Puritan flowers," he said, ''and the type of Puritan 

maidens. 
Modest and simple and sweet, the very type of Priscilla! 30 
So I will take them to her; to Priscilla tiie Mayflower of 

Plymouth, 

' More properly Ashtoreth, the goddess of love, and principal female divinity of the 
Phenicians. Like the Greek Astarte, she is identified with the moon, and is represented 
under the symbol of the crescent. Groves were favorite places of her worship, which is 
denounced in the Old Testament. See Judges, ii. 13, 1 Samuel, xii. 10, and 1 Kings, xi. 
5, 43. 

2 The supreme male deity of the Phenicians, representing the fertility and productive 
power of nature. He was worshipped as the sun-god, and incense, bulls, and human 
sacrifices, especially children, were offered to him. His worship, like that of Ashtoreth, 
was attended by wild and licentious orgies. See Joshua, xi. 17, Jeremiah, xxxii. 29, and 
1 Kings, xvi. 32, and xviii. 2G. 

3 Children in the wood, or babes in the wood. An old English ballad of unknown 
authorship, preserved in Ritson's, Percy's, and otlier collections. The ballad was entered 
in the Stationer'' $ Register, in 1595. In IGOl a play was published " of a young child 
murthered in a wood by two ruffins with the consent of his unkle." The plot of this 
play was undoubtedly derived from the Italian, and the ballad may have been produced 
from the same source. — CJiild. 



MILES STANDISH. 15 

Modest and simple and sweet, as a parting gift will I take 
them ; 

Breathing their silent farewells, as they fade and wither and 
perish, 

Soon to be thrown away as is the heart of the giver." 

So throngh the Plymouth woods John Alden went ou his 
errand ; 35 

Came to an open space, and saw the disk of the ocean, 

Sailless, sombre and cold with the comfortless breath of the 
east-wind; 

Saw the new-built house, and people at work in a meadow; 

Heard, as he drew near the door, the musical voice of Priscilla 

Singing the hundredth Psalm, the grand old Puritan an- 
them,' 40 

Music tliat Luther'^ sang to the sacred words of the Psalm- 
ist, 

Full of the breath of the Lord, consoling and comforting 
many. 

Then, as he opened the door, he beheld the form of the 
maiden 

Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like a snow-drift 

Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding the ravenous 
spindle, 45 

While with her foot on the treadle she guided the wheel in 
its motion. 

1 The tune sung by Priscilla is now familiarly known as Old Hundred ; the version 
was the translation of Psalm c. by Ainsworth : 

"Bow to Jehovah all the earth. 
Serve ye Jehovah with gladness; before him come with singing mirth. 
Know that Jehovah he God is. It's he that made us and not we, his flock and sheep 

of his feeding. 
Oh, with confession enter ye his gates, his courtyard with praising. Confess to him, 

bless ye his name. 
Because Jehovah he good is: his mercy ever is the same, and his faith unto all ages." 

2 Martin Luther, a German reformer and translator of the Bible. He was born at 
Eisleben, Prussian Saxony, Nov. 10, 1483, and died in the same place, Feb. 18, 1546. He 
translated the Psalms in 1524, and in the same year appeared his hymn-book. 



16 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Open wide on her lap lay the well-worn psalm-book of Ains- 
worth/ 

Printed in Amsterdam/ the words and the music together, 

Eough-hewn, angular notes, like stones in the wall of a 
churchyard. 

Darkened and overhung by the running vine of the verses. 50 

Such was the book from whose pages she sang the old Puritan 
anthem. 

She, the Puritan girl, in the solitude of the forest. 

Making the humble house and the modest apparel of home- 
spun 

Beautiful with her beauty, and rich with the wealth of her 
being ! 

Over him rushed, like a wind that is keen and cold and re- 
lentless, 55 

Thoughts of what might have been, and the weight and woe 
of his errand; 

All the dreams that had faded, and all the hopes that had 
vanished. 

All his life henceforth a dreary and tenantless mansion, 

Haunted by vain regrets, and pallid, sorrowful faces. 

Still he said to himself, and almost fiercely he said it, 60 

" Let not him that putteth his hand to the plough look back- 
wards; ^ 

Though the ploughshare cut through the flowers of life to its 
fountains. 

Though it pass o'er the graves of the dead and the hearths of 
the living, 

It is the will of the Lord; and his mercy endureth forever! " * 

1 Henry Ainswortb, an English separatist clergyman, controversialist, and rabbinical 
scholar. Born at Pleasington, Lancashire, England, 1571 ; died at Amsterdam about 1622. 

2 The chief commercial city of Holland, to which Ainsworth fled from the persecution 
of the Brovvnists. There he became porter to a bookseller and later pastor to a congrega- 
tion, 

3 Luke, ix. C2. 

* Jeremiah, xxxiii. 11. 



MILES STANDISH. 17 

So lie entered the house; and the hum of the wheel and the 
singing G5 

Suddenly ceased; for Priscilla, aroused by his step on the 
threshold. 

Rose as he entered and gave him her hand, in signal of wel- 
come. 

Saying, " I knew it was you, when I heard your step in the 
passage ; 

For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing and spin- 
ning." 

Awkward and dumb with delight, that a thought of him had 
been mingled 70 

Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the heart of the 
maiden, 

Silent before her he stood, and gave her the flowers for an 
answer. 

Finding no words for his thought. He remembered that day 
in the winter. 

After the first great snow, when he broke a path from the 
village. 

Reeling and plunging along through the drifts that encum- 
bered the doorway, 75 

Stamping the snow from his feet as he entered the house, and 
Priscilla 

Laughed at his snowy locks, and gave him a seat by the fire- 
side, 

Grateful and pleased to know he had thought of her in the 
snow-storm. 

Had he but spoken then! perhaps not in vain had he spoken; 

Now it was all too late; the golden moment had vanished! 80 

So he stood there abashed, and gave her the flowers for an 
answer. 

Then they sat down and talked of the birds and the beauti- 
ful springtime; 

2 



18 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Talked of their friends at home, and the ''Mayflower" that 

sailed ou the morrow. 
''I have been thinking all day," said gently the Puritan 

maiden, 
" Dreaming all niglit, and thinking all day, of the hedgerows 

of England, — 85 

They are in blossom now, and the country is all like a gar- 
den; 
Thinking of lanes and fields, and the song of the lark and the 

linnet. 
Seeing the village street, and familiar faces of neighbors 
Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip together. 
And, at the end of the street, the village church, with the 

ivy 90 

Climbing the old gray tower, and the quiet graves in the 

churchyard. 
Kind are the people I live with, and dear to me my religion; 
Still my heart is so sad, that I wish myself back in Old Eiig- 

land. 
Yon will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it: I almost 
Wish myself back in Old England, I feel so lonely and 

wretched." 95 

Thereupon answered the youth: ''Indeed I do not con- 
demn yon; 
Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in this terrible 

winter. 
Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a stronger to lean on; 
So I have come to you now, with an offer and proffer of mar- 

. riage 
Made by a good man and true. Miles Staudish the Captain of 
Plymouth!*' 100 

Thus he delivered his message, the dexterous writer of 
letters, — 



MILES STANDISH. 19 

Did not embellish the theme, nor array it in beautiful phrases. 
But came straight to the point, and blurted it out like a 

school-boy; 
Even the Captain himself conld hardly have said it more 

bluntly. 
Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the Puritan 

maiden 105- 

Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with wonder. 
Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned her and rendered 

her speechless; 
Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous silence: 
" If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, 
AVhy does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo 

me? 110 

If I am not worth the wooiug, I surely am not worth the 

winning! " 
Then John Alden began explaining and smoothing the matter. 
Making it worse as he went, by saying the Captain was busy, — 
Had no time for such things; — such things! the words grating 

harshly 
Fell on the ear of Priscilla; and swift as a flash she made 

answer: 115 

" Has he no time for such things, as you call it, before he is 

married. 
Would he be likely to find it, or make it, after the wedding? 
That is the way with you men; you don't understand us, you 

cannot. 
When you have made up your minds, after thinking of this 

one and that one, 
Choosing, selecting, rejecting, comparing one with an 

other, 120 

Then you make known your desire, with abrupt and sudden 

avowal. 
And are offended and hurt, and indignant perhaps, that a 

woman 



20 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Does not respond at once to a love that she never snspected, 
Does not attain at a bound the height to wnich you have beeu 

climbing. 
This is not right nor just; for surely a woman's affection 125 
Is not a thing to be asked for, and had for only the asking. 
When one is truly in love, one not only says it, but shows it. 
Had he but waited awhile, had he only showed that he loved 

me, 
Even this Captain of yours — who knows? — at last might have 

won me, 
Old and rough as he is; but now it never can happen." 130 

Still John Alden went on, unheeding the words of Pris- 
cilla. 

Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, persuading, ex- 
panding; 

Spoke of his courage and skill, and of all his battles in Flan- 
ders, 

How with the people of God he had chosen to suffer affliction/ 

HoAv, in return for his zeal, they had made him Captain of 
Plymouth; 135 

He was a gentleman born, could trace his pedigree plainly 

Back to Hugh Standish of Duxbury Hall, in Lancashire, 
England, 

Who was the son of Ralph, and the grandson of Thurston de 
Standish ; 

Heir unto vast estates, of which he was basely defrauded. 

Still bore the family arms, and had for his crest a cock 
argent 140 

Combed and wattled gules, and all the rest of the blazon.^ 

1 Hebrews, xi. 25. 

2 Captain Standish had inherited, according to the hiws of heraldry, the family armo- 
rial insignia. These were originally embroidered on the knight's hauberk, or coat-of- 
mail— hence the term, coat of arms— hwi later, on the shield or escutcheon. The Standish 
crest was a silver cock, with red comb and wattle, appended to the family shield. Blazon 
is the description in heraldic terms of the charges, or objects, on the shield. 



MILES STANDlSil. 21 

He was a man of honor, of noble and generous nature; 

Though he was rough, he was kindly; she knew how during 
the winter 

He had attended the sick, with a hand as gentle as woman's; 

Somewhat hasty and hot, he could not deny it, and head- 
strong, 145 

Stern as a soldier might be, but hearty, and placable al- 
ways, 

Not to be laughed at and scorned, because he was little of 
stature; 

For he was great of heart, magnanimous, courtly, courageous; 

Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman in England, 

Might be happy and proud to be called the wife of Miles 
Standish ! 150 

But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and eloquent 
language^ 
Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival, 
Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes overrunning with 

laughter. 
Said, in a tremulous voice, '' Why don't you speak for your- 
self, John?" 

IV. 

JOHN ALDEN. 

Into the open air John Alden, perplexed and bewildered. 
Rushed like a man insane, and wandered alone by the sea- 
side ; 
Paced up and down the sands, and bared his head to the east 

wind. 
Cooling his heated brow, and the fire and fever within him. 
Slowly, as out of the heavens, with apocalyjitical splendors, 5 
Sank the City of God, in the vision of John the Apostle,' 

' Revelation of St. John, xxi. 10-27. 



22 THE COURTSHIP OF 

So^ with its cloudy walls of chrysolite, jasper, and sap- 
phire. 
Sank the broad red sun, and over its turrets uplifted 
Glimmered the golden reed of the angel who measured the 
city. 

" Welcome, wind of the East! " he exclaimed in his wild 
exultation, 10 

'^ Welcome, wind of the East, from the caves of the misty 
Atlantic! 

Blowing o'er fields of dulse,' and measureless meadows of sea- 
grass. 

Blowing o'er rocky wastes, and the grottos and gardens of 
ocean! 

Lay thy cold, moist hand on my burning forehead, and wrap 
me 

Close in thy garments of mist, to allay the fever within 
me!'' 15 

Like an awakened conscience, the sea was moaning and 
tossing. 

Beating remorseful and loud the mutable sands of the sea- 
shore. 

Fierce in his soul was the struggle and tumult of passions 
contending; 

Love triumphant and crowned, and friendship wounded and 
bleeding, 

Passionate cries of desire, and importunate pleadings of 
duty! 20 

" Is it my fault," he said, " that the maiden has chosen be- 
tween us? 

Is it my fault that he failed, — my fault that I am the vic- 
tor?" 

1 Sea-weed of a reddish brown color, adhering to the rocks in long strips, and some- 
times eaten, as in Scotland. 



AITLES STAXDISH. 23 

Then within him there thundered a Yoice, like the voice of 
the Prophet: 

'' It hath displeased the Lord! " — and he thought of David's 
transgression, 

Bathslieba's ' beautiful face, and his friend in tlie front of the 
battle! 25 

Shame and confusion of guilt, and abasement and self-con- 
demnation. 

Overwhelmed him at once; and he cried in the deepest con- 
trition: 

"It hath displeased the Lord! It is the temptation of Sa- 
tan!" 

Then, uplifting his head, he looked at the sea, and beheld 

there 
Dimly the shadowy form of the *^ Mayflower" riding at 

anchor, 30 

Rocked on the rising tide, and ready to sail on the morrow; 
Heard the voices of men through the mist, the rattle of cord- 
age 
Thrown on the deck, the shouts of the mate, and the sailors' 

''Ay, ay. Sir!" 
Clear and distinct, but not loud, in the dripping air of the 

twilight. 
Still for a moment he stood, and listened, and stared at the 

vessel • 35 

Then went hurriedly on, as one who, seeing a phantom. 
Stops, then quickens his pace, and follows the beckoning 

shadow. 
*' Yes, it is plain to me now," he murmured; "the hand of 

the Lord is 

1 The beautiful wife of Uriah the Hittite, afterwards the wife of King David and the 
mother of Solomon. The Prophet was Nathan. The story of Bathsheba will be found in 
II. Samuel, chaps, xi. and xii. It is the subject of an old play by George Peele, called 
The Love of King David and Fair Bethsabe (1599). 



24 , THE COURTSHIP OF 

Leading me out of the land of darkness, the bondage of error, 

Through the sea, that shall lift the walls of its waters around 
me, 40 

Hiding me, cutting me off, from the cruel thoughts that pur- 
sue me/ 

Back will I go o'er the ocean, this dreary land will aban- 
don. 

Her whom I may not love, and him whom my heart has 
offended. 

Better to be in my grave in the green old churchyard in Eng- 
land, 

Close by my mother's side, and among the dust of my kin- 
dred; 45 

Better be dead and forgotten, than living in shame and dis- 
honor ! 

Sacred and safe and unseen, in the dark of the narrow cham- 
ber 

With me my secret shall lie, like a buried jewel that glimmers 

Bright on the hand that is dust, in the chambers of silence 
and darkness, — 

Yes, as the marriage ring of the great espousal hereafter! " 50 

Thus as he spake, he turned, in the strength of his strong 
resolution, 
Leaving behind him the shore, and hurried along in the twi- 
light, • 
Through the congenial gloom of the forest silent and sombre. 
Till he beheld the lights in the seven houses^ of Plymouth, 
Shining like seven stars in the dusk and mist of the even- 
ing. 55 
Soon he entered his door, and found the redoubtable Captain 

' For the Biblical reference see Exodus, chaps, xiii. and siv. 

2 "You shall understand," wrote Winslow, "■ that in this little time that a few of us 
have been here, we have built seven dwelling-houses and four for the use of the planta- 
tion."— Letter to a friend in England (December 11, 1621). 



MILES STANDISH. 25 

Sitting alone, and absorbed in the martial pages of Caesar. 

Fighting some great campaign in llainault^ or Brabant'' or 
Flanders. 

" Long have yon been on yonr errand," he said with a cheery 
demeanor. 

Even as one who is waiting an answer, and fears not the 
ieene. 00 

'' Not far off is the house, although the woods are between us; 

But you have lingered so long, that while you were going and 
coming 

I have fought ten battles and sacked and demolished a city. 

Come, sit down, and in order relate to me all that has hap- 
pened." 

Then John Alden spake, and related the Avondrous adven- 
ture 05 

From beginning to end, minutely, just as it happened; 

How he had seen Priscilla, and how he had sped in his court- 
ship. 

Only smoothing a little, and softening down her refusal. 

But when he came at length to the words Priscilla had spoken, 

Words so tender and cruel, ''Why don't you speak for your- 
self, John ? " ^ 70 

ITp leaped the Captain of Plymouth, and stamped on the floor, 
till his armor 

Clanged on the wall, where it hung, with a sound of sinister 
omen. 

All his pent-up wrath burst forth in a sudden explosion. 

E'en as a hand-granade,^ that scatters destruction round it. 

1 A county of the Netherlands, united in 1433 to the dominions of Philip the Good of 
Burgundy. 

2 A county and duchy of the Netherlands, to which Philip the Good succeeded in 
1430. 

3 A small hollow ball of iron or glass filled with powder or other explosives. It was 
thrown from the hand into the trenches or head of a sap, or upon besiegers mounting a 
breach. 



26 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Wildly he shouted, and loud: "John Alden! you have be- 
trayed me! 75 

Me, Miles Standish, your friend ! have supplanted, defrauded, 
betrayed me! 

One of my ancestors ran his sword through the heart of Wat 
Tyler;' 

Who shall prevent me from running my own through the 
heart of a traitor? 

Yours is the greater treason, for yours is a treason to friend- 
ship! 

You, who lived under my roof, whom I cherished and loved 
as a brother; 80 

You, who have fed at my board, and drunk at my cup, to 
whose keeping 

I have intrusted my honor, my thoughts the most sacred and 
secret, — 

You too, Brutus!^ ah, woe to the name of friendship here- 
after ! 

Brutus was Caesar's friend, and you were mine, but hence- 
forward 

Let there be nothing between us save war, and implacable 
hatred!" 85 

So spake the Captain of Plymouth, and strode about in the 
chamber. 
Chafing and choking with rage; like cords were the veins on 

his temples. 
But in the midst of his anger a man appeared at the doorway, 
l^ringing in uttermost haste a message of urgent importance. 
Rumors of danger and war and hostile incursions of Indians ! 90 
Straightway the Captain paused, and, without further ques- 
tion or parley, 

1 This incident is recorded in Sir John Froissart's Chronicles of Engkmd, Finance, 
and Spain, chap. Ixxvi., p. 287. 

■•^ Et tu Brute! were the reproacliful words of Cifsar whenhe recogni/.edhisold friend 
Brutus among his assassins. 



MTLES STANDISH. 27 

Took from the nail on the wall his sword with its scabbard of 
iron, ' 

Buckled the belt round his waist, and, frowning fiercely, de- 
parted. 

Alden was left alone. lie heard the clank of the scabbard 

Growing fainter and fainter, and dying away in the distance. 95 

Then he arose from his seat, and looked forth into the dark- 
ness. 

Felt the cool air blow on his cheek, that was hot with the 
insult. 

Lifted his eyes to the heavens, and, folding his hands as in 
childhood. 

Prayed in the silence of night to the Father who seeth in 
secret. ' 

Meanwhile the choleric Captain strode wrathf nl away to the 
council, 100 

Found it already assembled, impatiently waiting his coming; 

Men in the middle of life, austere and grave in deport- 
ment. 

Only one of them old, the hill that was nearest to heaven. 

Covered with snow, but erect, the excellent Elder ^ of Plym- 
outh. 

God had sifted three kingdoms to find the wheat for this 
planting,^ 105 

Then had sifted the wheat, as the living seed of a nation; 

So say the chronicles old, and such is the faith of the people! 

Near them was standing an Indian, in attitude stern and 
defiant, 

1 Matthew, vi., 4. 

2 WMlliam Brewster (1560?-1644), a ruling elder in the Plymouth Congregation, who 
also officiated as teaching elder in the absence of the pastor, John Robinson, who re- 
mained in Leyden. He is said to have studied at Cambridge University, and was in the 
service of William Davison, Ambassador to the Low Countries. 

' "God sifted a whole nation,'' said Stoughton, "that he might send a choice grain 
over into this wilderness.'"— Sermon on Election (1GG8). 



28 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Naked down to the waist, and grim and ferocious in aspect; 

Wliile on the table before them was lying unopened a Bible, ' 1] 

Ponderous, bound in leather, brass-stu elded, printed in Hol- 
land, 

And beside it outstretched the skin of a rattlesnake glit- 
tered. 

Filled, like a quiver, with arrows: a signal and challenge of 
warfare," 

Brought by the Indian, and speaking with arrowy tongues of 
defiance. 

This Miles Standish beheld, as lie entered, and heard them 
debating 115 

What were an answer befitting the hostile message and men- 
ace. 

Talking of this and of that, contriving, suggesting, object- 
ing; 

One voice only for peace, and that the voice of the Elder, 

Judging it wise and well that some at least were converted,^ 

Rather than any were slain, for this was but Christian be- 
havior! 120 

Then out spake Miles Standish, the stalwart Captain of Plym- 
outh, 

Muttering deep in his throat, for his voice Avas husky with 
anger, 

"What! do you mean to make war with milk and the water 
of roses ? 

Is it to shoot red squirrels you have your howitzer j^lanted 

1 The favorite version of the Scriptures used by tlie Puritans was the Geneva Bible 
(1557), whicla was made in Switzerland on account of persecution by Queen Mary. It is 
also known as the Breeches Bible, the word breechee being used instead of aprons in 
Genesis iii., 7. It was published at least once at Amsterdam. 

2 In January, 1622, Canonicus, a Narragansett chief, actually sent a rattlesnake skin 
filled with arrows as a challenge to Governor Bradford, who returned the skin filled with 
powder and ball by the messenger, Tisquantum. 

3 After the Pilgrims' first fight with the savages, John Robinson, the pastor, ex- 
claimed: "Oh, how happy a thing had it been, if you had converted some before you 
had killed any ! " 



MILES STANDISH. 29 

There on the roof of the church, or is it to shoot red devils ? 125 

Truly the only tongne that is understood by a savage 

Must be the tongue of fire that speaks from the mouth of the 

cannon! " 
Thereupon answered and said the excellent Elder of Plymouth, 
Somewhat amazed and alarmed at this irreverent language: 
*' N^ot so thought Saint Paul, nor yet the other Apostles; 130 
Not from the cannon's mouth were the tongues of fire' they 

spake with! "' 
But unheeded fell this mild rebuke on the Captain, 
Who had advanced to the table, and thus continued discoursing : 
*' Leave this matter to me, for to me by right it pertaineth. 
War is a terrible trade; but in the cause that is righteous, 135 
Sweet is the smell of powder; and thus I answer the chal- 
lenge! " 

Then from the rattlesnake's skin, with a sudden, contempt- 
uous gesture. 
Jerking the Indian arrows, he filled it with powder and bullets 
Full to the very jaws, and handed it back to the savage. 
Saying, in thundering tones: ''Here, take it! this is your 
answer! " 140 

Silently out of the room then glided the glistening savage. 
Bearing the serpent's skin, and seeming himself like a serpent, 
Winding his sinuous way in the dark to the depths of the 
forest. 

V. 

THE SAILING OF THE '' MAYFLOWER.'' 

Just in the gray of the dawn, as the mists uprose from the 

meadows. 
There was a stir and a sound in the slumbering village of 

Plymouth ; 

1 Acts of the Apostles, ii. 3, and Romans, xii. 18. 



30 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Clanging and clicking of arms, and the order imperative, 
"Forward!" 

Given in tone suppressed, a tramp of feet, and then silence. 

Figures ten, in the mist, marched slowly out of the village. 5 

Standish the stalwart it was, with eight of his valorous army, 

Led by their Indian guide, by Hobomok, friend of the white 
men, 

Northward marching to quell the sudden revolt of the savage. 

Giants they seemed in the mist, or the mighty men of King 
David; ' 

Giants in heart they were, who believed in God and the 
Bible,— 10 

Ay, who believed in the smiting of Midianites^ and Philis- 
tines.^ 

Over them gleamed far off the crimson banners of morning; 

Under them loud on the sands, the serried billows, advancing. 

Fired along the line, and in regular order retreated. 

Many a mile had they marched, when at length the village 

of Plymouth 15 

Woke from its sleep, and arose, intent on its manifold labors. 
Sweet was the air and soft; and slowly the smoke from the 

chimneys 
Rose over roofs of thatch, and pointed steadily eastward; 
Men came forth from the doors, and paused and talked of the 

weather. 
Said that the Avind had changed, and was blowing fair for the 

''Mayflower"; 20 

1 II. Samuel, xxiii. 

2 An Arabiaii tribe settled in the northern part of the Syro-Arabian desert. They were 
descendants of Abraham and Keturah. Moses destroyed their cities, and Gideon de- 
feated them when they crossed the Jordan to ravage the country. Later they disappeared 
almost entirely from history. 

3 A nation supposed to be of Semitic origin. Professor Sayce thinks they were 
established by Egyptian kings as a garrison on the southern border of Palestine. They 
were frequently at war with the Hebrews in the reigns of Saul and David. 



MILES STANDISIL 31 

Talked of their Captain's departure, and all the dangers that 
menaced , 

He being gone, the town, and what should be done in his 
absence. 

Merrily sang the birds, and the tender voices of women 

Consecrated with hymns the common cares of the house- 
hold. 

Out of the sea rose the sun, and the billows rejoiced at his 
coming; 35 

Beautiful Avere his feet on the pur2:)le tops of the mountains; 

Beautiful on the sails of the ** Mayflower" riding at anchor. 

Battered and blackened and Avorn by all the storms of the 
winter. 

Loosely against her masts was hanging and flapping her can- 
vas, 

Eent by so nuuiy gales, and patched by the hands of the 
sailors, ^0 

Suddenly from her side, as the sun rose over the ocean, 

Darted a pufi of smoke, and floated seaward; anon rang 

Loud over field and forest the cannon's roar, and the echoes 

Heard and repeated the sound, the signal-gun of depart- 
ure ! 

Ah ! but with louder echoes replied the hearts of the people ! 35 

Meekly, in voices subdued, the chapter was read from the 
Bible, 

Meekly the prayer was begun, but ended in fervent en- 
treaty ! 

Then from their houses in haste came forth the Pilgrims 
of Plymouth, 

Men and women and children, all hurrying down to the sea- 
shore, 

Eager, with tearful eyes, to say farewell to the ''May- 
flower," 40 

Homeward bound o'er the sea, and leaving them here in the 
desert. 



82 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Foremost among them was Alden. All night he had lain 
without slumber, 

Turning and tossing about in the heat and unrest of his fever. 

He had beheld Miles Standish, who came back late from the 
council. 

Stalking into the room, and heard him mutter and murmur, 45 

Sometimes it seemed a prayer, and sometimes it sounded like 
swearing. 

Once he had come to the bed, and stood there a moment in 
silence; 

Then he had turned away, and said: '' I will not awake him; 

Let him sleep on, it is best; for what is the use of more talk- 
ing!" 

Then he extinguished the light, and threw himself down on 
his pallet, 50 

Dressed as he was, and ready to start at the break of the 
morning, — 

Covered himself with the cloak he had worn in his campaigns 
in Flanders, — 

Slept as a soldier sleeps in his bivouac,^ ready for action. 

But with the dawn he arose; in the twilight Alden beheld 
him 

Put on his corselet of steel, and all the rest of his armor, 55 

Buckle about his waist his trusty blade of Damascus, 

Take from the corner his musket, and so stride out of the 
chamber. 

Often the heart of the youth had burned and yearned to em- 
brace him. 

Often his lips had essayed to speak, imploring for pardon; 

1 Pronounced biv'-wak: the night-watch of an army when in danger of surprise, or an 
encampment for the night without tents or shelter. Cf. O'Hara's beautiful use of the 
word in his poem in memory of the Kentuckians who fell at Buena Vista: 

" On Fame''s eternal camping-ground, 
Their silent tents are spread. 
And Glory guards, with solemn round, 
The bivouac of the dead." 



MILES STANDISH. 33 

All the old friendship came back with its tender and grateful 
emotions; 60 

But his pride overmastered the nobler nature within him, — 

Pride, and the sense of his wrong, and the burning fire of the 
insult. 

So he beheld his friend departing in anger, but spake not, 

Saw him go forth to danger, perhaps to death, and he spake not! 

Then he arose from his bed, and heard Avhat the people were 
saying, ^5 

Joined in the talk at the door, with Stephen and Richard and 
Gilbert,' 

Joined in the morning prayer, and in the reading of Scrip- 
ture, 

And, with the others, in haste went hurrying down to the 
seashore, 

Down to the Plymouth Rock, that had been to their feet as 
a doorstep 

Into a world nnknown, — the corner-stone of a nation! 70 

There with his boat was the Master,' already a little im- 
patient 

Lest he should lose the tide, or the wind might shift to the 
eastward, 

Square-built, hearty, and strong, with an odor of ocean about 
him, 

Speaking with this one and that, and cramming letters and 
parcels 

Into his pockets capacious, and messages mingled together 75 

Into his narrow brain, till at last he was wholly bewildered. 

Nearer the boat stood Alden, with one foot placed on the gun- 
wale, 

1 The actual names of three of the "Mayflower'' passengers surviving in 1G21 : 
Stephen Hopkins, Richard Warren, and Gilbert Winslow. 

2 The title, in the seventeenth century, of the commander of a merchant vessel. Cf. 
Tempest, I. i. 

3 



34 THE COUKTSHIP OF 

One still firm on the rock, and talking at times with the 
sailors. 

Seated erect on the thwarts, all ready and eager for start- 
ing. 

He too was eager to go, and thns put an end to his anguish, 80 

Thinking to fly from despair, that swifter than keel is or 
canvas. 

Thinking to drown in the sea the ghost that would rise and 
pursue him. 

But as he gazed on the crowd, he beheld the form of Priscilla 

Standing dejected among them, unconscious of all that was 
passing. 

Fixed were her eyes upon his, as if she divined his inten- 
tion, 85 

Fixed with a look so sad, so reproachful, imploring, and 
patient, 

That with a sudden revulsion his heart recoiled from its pur- 
pose. 

As from the verge of a crag, where one step more is destruc- 
tion. 

Strange is the heart of man, with its quick, mysterious in- 
stincts! 

Strange is the life of man, and fatal or fated are moments, 90 

Whereupon turn, as on hinges, the gates of the wall adaman- 
tine! 

^' Here I remain! " he exclaimed, as he looked at the heavens 
above him, 

Thanking the Lord whose breath had scattered the mist and 
the madness. 

Wherein, blind and lost, to death he was staggering head- 
long. 

"Yonder snow-white cloud, that floats in the ether above 
me, 95 

Seems like a hand that is pointing and beckoning over the 
ocean. 



MILES STANDISH. 35 

There is another hand, that is not so spectral and ghost-like. 

Holding me, drawing me back, and clasping mine for protec- 
tion. 

Float, hand of cloud, and vanish away in the ether! 

Koll thyself up like a fist, to threaten and daunt me; I heed 
not 100 

Either your warning or menace, or any omen of evil! 

There is no land so sacred, no air so pure and so wholesome, 

As is the air she breathes, and the soil that is pressed by her 
footsteps. 

Here for her sake will I stay, and like an invisible pres- 
ence 

Hover around her forever, protecting, supporting her weak- 
ness; 105 

Yes! as my foot was the first that stepped on this rock at the 
landing, 

So, with the blessing of God, shall it be the last at the leav- 
ing!" 

Meanwhile the Master alert, but with dignified air and im- 
portant. 
Scanning with watchful eye the tide and the wind and the 

weather. 
Walked about on the sands, and the people crowded around 
him 110 

Saying a few last words, and enforcing his careful remem- 
brance. 
Then, taking each by the hand, as if he were grasping a tiller. 
Into the boat he sprang, and in haste shoved off to his vessel, 
Glad in his heart to get rid of all this worry and flurry. 
Glad to be gone from a land of sand and sickness and 
sorrow, 115 

Short allowance of victual, and plenty of nothing but Gospel! 
Lost in the sound of the oars was the last farewell of the 
Pilgrims. 



36 THE COURTSHIP OF 

strong hearts and true! not one went back in the '' May- 
flower"! 

No, not one looked back, who had set his hand to this plough- 
ing! 

Soon were heard on board the shouts and songs of the 
sailors 1^0 

Heaving the windlass round, and hoisting the ponderous 
anchor. 

Then the yards were braced, and all sails set to the west wind, 

Blowing steady and strong; and the "Mayflower" sailed 
from the harbor. 

Rounded the point of the Gurnet,' and leaving far to the 
southward 

Island and cape of sand, and the Field of the First Encoun- 
ter,'^ 125 

Took the wind on her quarter, and stood for the open Atlan- 
tic, 

Borne on the send of the sea, and the swelling hearts of the 
Pilgrims. 

Long in silence they watched the receding sail of the vessel, 
Much endeared to them all, as something living and hu- 
man; 
Then, as if filled with the spirit, and wrapt in a vision pro- 
phetic, 130 
Baring his hoary head, the excellent Elder of Plymouth 
Said, "Let us pray!" and they prayed, and thanked the 

Lord and took courage.^ 
Mournfully sobbed the waves at the base of the rock, and 
above them 

1 The headland at the entrance to Plymouth Harbor, seven miles from Marshfleld. 

2 Before the Pilgrims all landed, a party was sent ashore in a shallop to explore the 
country, and here they first encountered a body of Indians on Dec. 8, 1620. See Young's 
Chronicles, p. 159. 

3 Acts of the Apostles, xxviii. 15. 



MILES STANDISH. 37 

Bowed and whispered the wheat on the hill of death, and 

their kindred 
Seemed to awake in their graves, and to join in the prayer 

that they uttered. 135 

Sun-illumined and white, on the eastern verge of the ocean 
Gleamed the departing sail, like a marble slab in a graveyard; 
Buried beneath it lay forever all hope of escaping. 
Lo! as they turned to depart, they saw the form of an Indian, 
Watching them from the hill; but while they spake with each 

other, 140 

Pointing with outstretched hands, and saying, ''Look!'' he 

had vanished. 
So they returned to their homes; but Ahlen lingered a little. 
Musing alone on the shore, and watching the wash of the 

billows 
Eound the base of the rock, and the sparkle and flash of the 

sunshine. 
Like the spirit of God, moving visibly over the Avaters.' 145 

PRTSCILLA. 

Thus for a while he stood, and mused by the shore of the 

ocean. 
Thinking of many things, and most of all of Priscilla; 
And as if thought had the power to draw to itself, like the 

loadstone. 
Whatsoever it touches, by subtle laws of its nature, 
Lo! as he turned to depart, Priscilla was standing beside 

him. 5 

" Are you so much offended, you Avill not speak to me ?'^ 
said she. 

1 Genesis, i. 2. 



88 ■ THE COURTSHIP OF 

''Am I SO much to blame, that yesterday, when you were 
pleading 

Warmly the cause of another, my heart, impulsive and way- 
ward. 

Pleaded your own, and spake out, forgetful perhaps of deco- 
rum ? 

Certainly you can forgive me for speaking so frankly, for say- 
ing 10 

AVhat I ought not to have said, yet now I can never unsay it; 

For there are moments in life, when the heart is so full of 
emotion. 

That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble 

Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret. 

Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered to- 
gether. 15 

Yesterday I was shocked, when I heard you speak of Miles 
Standish, 

Praising his virtues, transforming his very defects into vir- 
tues. 

Praising his courage and strength, and even his fighting in 
Flanders, 

As if by fighting alone you could win the heart of a 
woman, 

Quite overlooking yourself and the rest, in exalting your 
hero. 20 

Therefore I spake as I did, by an irresistible impulse. 

You will forgive me, I hope, for the sake of the friendship 
between us. 

Which is too true and too sacred to be so easily broken! " 

Thereupon answered John Alden, the scholar, the friend of 
Miles Standish : 

" I was not angry with you, with myself alone I was angry, 25 

Seeing how badly I managed the matter I had in my keeping." 

"Xo!" interrupted the maiden, with answer prompt and 
decisive: 



MILES STANDTSH. 39 

"No; you were angry with me^ for speaking so frankly and 

freely. 
It was wrong, I acknowledge; for it is the fate of a woman 
Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost that is 

speechless, 30 

Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of its silence. 
Hence is the inner life of so many suffering women 
Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean rivers' 
Running through caveriis of darkness, unheard, unseen, and 

unfruitful. 
Chafing their channels of stone, with endless and profitless 

murmurs." 35 

Thereupon answered John Alden, the young man, the lover 

of women: 
*' Heaven forbid it, Priscilla ; and truly they seem to me 

always 
More like the beautiful rivers^ that watered the garden of 

Eden, 
More like the river Euphrates, through deserts of Ilavilah 

flowing. 
Filling the land with delight, and memories sweet of the gar- 
den!" ^ 40 
"Ah, by these w^ords, I can see," again interrupted the 

maiden, 
" How very little you prize me, or care for what I am saying. 
When from the depths of my heart, in pain and with secret 

misgiving. 
Frankly I speak to you, asking for sympathy only and kindness. 
Straightway you take up my words, that are plain and direct 

and in earnest, 45 

1 Longfellow may have had in mind the classic Alpheus, a river in the Peloponnesus, 
which flowed for some distance underground. The story of the pursuit of the nymph 
Arethusa by the river-god is told in Ovid's Metamorphoses, v. 10, and in Shelley's Are- 
tJmsa. Cf . also Coleridge's Vision of Kuhla Khan. 

2 The Pison, "which compasseth the whole land of Havilah," the Gihon, the Hid- 
dekel, and the Euphrates. Genesis, ii. 11-13. 



40 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Tarn them away from their meaning, and answer witli flatter- 
ing phrases. 
This is not right, is not just, isnottraeto the best that is in yon; 
For I know and esteem yon, and feel that your nature is noble, 
Lifting mine np to a higher, a more ethereal level. 
Therefore I value your friendship, and feel it perhaps the 
more keenly 50 

11 you say aught that implies I am only as one among many. 
If yon make nse of those common and complimentary phrases 
Most men think so fine, in dealing and speaking with women. 
But which women reject as insipid, if not as insulting." 

Mute and amazed was Alden; and listened and looked at 

Priscilla, 55 

Thinking he never had seen her more fair, more divine in her 

beauty. 
He who but yesterday pleaded so glibly the cause of another. 
Stood there embarrassed and silent, and seeking in vain for an 

answer. 
So the maiden went on, and little divined or imagined 
AVhat was at work in his heart, that made him so awkward 

and speechless. 60 

" Let us, then, be what we are, and speak what we think, and 

in all things 
Keep ourselves loyal to truth, and the sacred 23rofessions of 

friendship. 
It is no secret I tell you, nor am I ashamed to declare it: 
I have liked to be with you, to see you, to speak with yon 

always. 
So I was hurt at your words, and a little affronted to hear 

you G5 

Urge me to marry your friend, though he were the Captain 

Miles Standish. 
For I must tell you the truth : much more to me is your 

friendship 



MILES STANDISH. 41 

Thau all the love he could give, were he twice the hero yon 
think him." 

Then she extended her hand, and Alden, who eagerly grasped it. 

Felt all the wounds in his heart, that were aching and bleed- 
ing so sorely, '^ 

Healed by the touch of that hand, and he said, with a voice 
full of feeling: 

"Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you 
friendship 

Let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest! " 

Casting a farewell look at the glimmering sail of the '' May- 
flower ' ' 

Distant, but still in sight, and sinking below the horizon, 75 

Homeward together they walked, with a strange, indefinite 
feeling, 

That all the rest had departed and left them alone in the 
desert. 

But, as they went through the fields in the blessing and smile 
of the sunshine. 

Lighter grew their hearts, and Priscilla said very arclily: 

"Now that our terrible Captain has gone in pursuit of the 
Indians, ^*^ 

Where he is happier far than he would be commanding a 
household, 

You may speak boldly, and tell mo of all that happened be- 
tween you. 

When you returned last night, and said how ungrateful you 
found me.*' 

Thereupon answered John Alden, and told her the whole of 
the story, — 

Told her his own despair, and the direful wrath ' of Miles 
Standish. ^^ 

1 An echo from the opening lines of the Iliad, where Horner "sings the aireful wrath 
of Pelides.'" 



42 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Whereat the maiden smiled, and said between langhing and 
earnest, 

" He is a little chimney, and heated hot in a moment! " 

But as he gently rebuked her, and told her how he had suf- 
fered, — 

How he had even' determined to sail that day in the " May- 
flower," 

And had remained for her sake, on hearing the dangers that 
threatened, — 90 

All her manner was changed, and she said with a faltering 
accent, 

" Truly I thank you for this: how good you have been to me 
always! " 

Thus, as a pilgrim devout, who toward Jernsalem journeys. 
Taking three steps in advance, and one reluctantly backward, 
Urged by importunate zeal, and withheld by pangs of con- 
trition; 95 
Slowly but steadily onward, receding yet ever advancing, 
Journeyed this Puritan youth to the Holy Land of his long- 
ings,^ 
Urged by the fervor of love, and withheld by remorseful mis- 
givings. 

VII. 

THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH. 

Meanwhile the stalwart Miles Standish was marching stead- 
ily northward. 

Winding through forest and swamp, and along the trend of 
the seashore, 

1 Pilgrimages from western Europe to Jerusalem and other sacred spots were especially 
common during the middle ages. The pilgrim went at his own charges and under a vow 
of ascetic observances ; the palmer, however, remained wilfully poor, had no home, and 
visited all shrines. The abuses which grew out of the custom are vividly portrayed in 
Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, 



MILES STANDISH. 43 

All day long, with hardly a halt, the fire of his anger 
Burning and crackling within, and the sulphurous odor of 

powder 
Seeming more sweet to his nostrils than all the scents of the 

forest. 5 

Silent and moody he went,and much he revolved his discomfort; 
He who was used to success, and to easy victories always. 
Thus to be flouted, rejected, and laughed to scorn by a maiden. 
Thus to be mocked and betrayed by the friend whom most he 

had trusted! 
Ah! 'twas too much to be borne, and he fretted and chafed 

in his armor ! 10 

"I alone am to blame," he muttered, ''for mine was the 
folly. 
What has a rough old soldier, grown grim and gray in the 

harness, 
Used to the camp and its Avays, to do with the wooing of 

maidens ? 
'Twas but a dream, — let it pass, — let it vanish like so many 

others ! 
What I thought was a flower, is only a weed, and is worth- 
less; 15 
Out of my heart will I pluck it, and throw it away, and hence- 
forward 
Be but a fighter of battles, a lover and wooer of dangers." 
Thus he revolved in his mind his sorry defeat and discomfort, 
While he was marching by day or lying at night in the forest. 
Looking up at the trees and the constellations beyond 
them. 20 

After a three days' march ' he came to an Indian encampment 

1 The original of this part of Longfellow's narrative is found in Winslow's Relation 
of Staiidish?s Expeditioti agairist the Indians of Weymouth^ and the breaking up of 
West07i's Colony at that place, in March, 1623. 



44 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Pitched on the edge of a meadow, hetween the sea and the 
forest; 

Women at work by the tents, and warriors, horrid with war- 
paint. 

Seated about a fire, and smoking and talking together; 

Who, Avhen they saw from afar the sudden approach of the 
white men, 25 

Saw the flasli of the sun on breastplate and sabre and mus- 
ket. 

Straightway leaped to their feet, and two, from among them 
advancing. 

Came to parley with Standish, and offer him furs as a present; 

Friendship was in their looks, but in their hearts there was 
hatred. 

Braves of the tribe were these, and brothers, gigantic in 
stature, 30 

Huge as Goliath of Gath,' or the terrible Og, king of Ba- 
sh an ; ^ 

One was Pecksuot named, and the other was called Watta- 
wamat. 

Kound their necks were suspended their knives in scabbards 
of wampum,^ 

Two-edged, trenchant knives, with points as sharp as a needle. 

Other arms had they none, for they were cunning and 
crafty. 35 

"Welcome, English!'' they said, — these words they had 
learned from the traders 

Touching at times on the coast, to barter and chaffer for pel- 
tries. 

Then in their native tongue they began to parley with Stan- 
dish, 

1 1 Samuel, xvii. 4-7. 

2 Douteronomy, iii. 11. 

3 Strips of leather embroidered with shell-beads, used as money, and worn for orna- 
ments in strings, belts, scabbards, etc., by the Indians. 



MILES STANDISH. 45 

Through liis guide and iuterpreter, Hobomok, frieud of tlie 
white man, 

Begging for Mankets and knives, but mostly for muskets and 
powder, 40 

Kept by the white man, they said, concealed, with the plague, 
in his cellars. 

Ready to be let loose, and destroy his brother the red man! 

But when Standish refused, and said he would give them the 
Bible, 

Suddenly changing their tone, they began to boast and to 
bluster. 

Then AYattawamat advanced with a stride in front of the 
other, 45 

And, with a Tofty demeanor, thus vauntingly spake to the 
Captain: 

*' Now Wattawamat can see, by the fiery eyes of the Captain, 

Angry is he in his heart; but the heart of the brave Watta- 
wamat 

Is not afraid at the sight. He was not born of a woman. 

But on a mountain, at night, from an oak-tree riven by light- 
ning, 50 

Forth he sprang at a bound, with all his weapons about him. 

Shouting, ^ Who is there here to fight with the brave Watta- 
wamat?'" 

Then he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the blade on his 
left hand. 

Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the handle. 

Saying, with bitter expression and look of sinister mean- 
ing: 55 

'' I have another at home, with the face of a man on the handle; 

By and by they shall marry; and there will be plenty of chil- 
dren!"' 

1 "Among the rest," says Winslow, " Witawamat bragged of the excellency of his 
knife. On the end of the handle there was pictured a woman's face ; ' but,' said he, 'I 
have another at home wherewith I have killed both French and English, and that hath a 



46 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Then stood Pecksuot forth, self-vaimting, iusulting Miles 
Standish; 

While with his fingers he patted the knife that hung at his 
bosom. 

Drawing it half from its sheath, and plunging it back, as he 
muttered, GO 

'' By and by it shall see; it shall eat; ah, ha! but shall speak not! 

This is the mighty Captain the white men have sent to de- 
stroy us! 

He is a little man; let him go and work with the women! " 

Meanwhile Standish had noted the faces and figures of 

Indians 
Peeping and creeping about from bush to tree in the forest, 65 
Feigning to look for game, with arrows set on their bow- 
strings. 
Drawing about him still closer and closer the net of their 

ambush. 
But undaunted he stood, and dissembled and treated them 

smoothly; 
So the old chronicles say, that were writ in the days of the 

fathers. 
But when he heard their defiance, the boast, the taunt and 

the insult, 70 

All the hot blood of his race, of Sir Hugh and of Thurston 

de Standish, 
Boiled and beat in his heart, and swelled in the veins of his 

temples. 
Headlong he leaped on the boaster, and, snatching his knife 

from its scabbard, 

mau's face on it, and by and by these two must marry.' Further, he said of that knife 
he there had, Hivnaim namen, hinnaim micfien, matta cuts ; that is to say, By and by 
it should see, and by and by it should eat, but not speak. Also Pecksuot, being a man 
of greater stature than the captain, told him, though he were a great captain, yet he was 
but a little man ; and, said he, though I be no sachem, yet I am a man of great strength 
and courage." Wiiislow's delation of Standish's Expedition. 



MILES STANDISH. 47 

Plunged it into his heart, and, reeling backward, the savage 
Fell with his face to the sky, and a fiendlike fierceness upon 

it. 75 

Straight there arose from the forest the awful sound of the 

war-whoop, 
And, like a flurry of snow on the whistling wind of December, 
Swift and sudden and keen came a flight of feathery arrows. 
Then came a cloud of smoke, and out of the cloud came the 

lightning. 
Out of the lightning thunder; and death unseen ran before 

it. 80 

Frightened the savages fled for shelter in swamp and in 

thicket. 
Hotly pursued and beset; but their sachem, the brave "Wat- 

tawamat. 
Fled not; he was dead. Unswerving and swift had a bullet 
Passed through his brain, and he fell with both hands clutch- 
ing the greensward. 
Seeming in death to hold back from his foe the land of his 

fathers. 85 

There on the flowers of the meadow the warriors lay, and 

above them 
Silent, with folded arms, stood Ilobomok, friend of the white 

man . 
Smiling at length he exclaimed to the stalwart Captain of 

Plymouth : 
*'Pecksuot bragged very loud, of his courage, his strength 

and his stature, — 
Mocked the great Captain, and called him a little man; but I 

see now 90 

Big enough have you been to lay him speechless before you ! " ' 

1 "•Hobbamock stood by all this time as a spectator," says Winslow, " and meddled 
not, observing. how our men demeaned themselves in this action. All being here ended, 
smiling, he brake forth into these speeches to the Captain: 'Yesterday Pecksuot, 



48 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Thus the first battle was fought and won by the stalwart 
Miles Standish. 
When the tidings thereof were brought to the village of Plym- 
outh, 
And as a trophy of war the head of the brave Wattawamat * 
Scowled from the roof of the fort, which at once was a church 
and a fortress, 95 

All who beheld it rejoiced, and praised the Lord, and took 

courage. 
Only Priscilla averted her face from this spectre of terror. 
Thanking God in her heart that she had not married Miles 

Standish; 
Shrinking, fearing almost, lest, coming home from his battles. 
He should lay claim to her hand, as the prize and reward of 
his valor. 100 

' VIII. 

THE SPINNING WHEEL. 

Month after montli passed away, and in autumn the ships of 

the merchants^ 
Came with kindred and friends, with cattle and corn for the 

Pilgrims. 
All in the village was peace; the men were intent on their 

labors. 
Busy with hewing and building, with garden-plot and with 

merestead,^ 

bragging of his own strength and stature, said, though you were a great captain, yet you 
were but a little man ; but to-day I see you are big enough to lay him on the ground.' " 

1 " Now was the Captain returned," says Winslow, "and received with joy, the head 
being brought to the fort, and there set up." The Pilgrims were observing a ghastly cus- 
tom which they had been familiar with in England, of exposing in conspicuous places, 
such as London Bridge and Temple Bar, the heads of traitors, highwaymen, etc., as a 
warning to other criminals. 

2 The " Anne " and the " Little James," which arrived in August, 1623. 

3 A homestead or bounded portion of land ; O. E., mere, boundary ; stead, place. 



MILES STANDISH. 49 

Busy with breaking the glebe, and mowing the grass in the 
meadows, 5 

Searching the sea for its fish, and hunting the deer in the 
forest. 

All in the village was peace; but at times the rumor of war- 
fare 

Filled the air with alarm, and the apprehension of danger. 

Bravely the stalwart Standish was scouring the land Avith his 
forces, 

Waxing valiant in fight and defeating the alien armies,^ 10 

Till his name had become a sound of fear to the nations. 

Anger was still in his heart, but at times the remorse and con- 
trition 

Which in all noble natures succeed the passionate outbreak. 

Came like a rising tide, that encounters the rush of a river. 

Staying its current a while, but making it bitter and brack- 
ish. 15 

Meanwhile Alden at home had built him a new habitation,' 

Solid, substantial, of timber rough-hewn from the firs of the 
forest. 

Wooden-barred was the door, and the roof was covered with 
rushes; 

Latticed the windows were, and the window-panes were of 
paper. 

Oiled to admit the light, while wind and rain were ex- 
cluded. 20 

There too he dug a well, and around it planted an orchard: 

Still may be seen to this day some trace of the well and the 
orchard. 

Close to the house was the stall, where, safe and secure from 
annoyance, 

1 Hebrews, si. 34. 

- On the present site of Duxbury, situated on the coast about thirty miles southeast of 
Boston. The homestead is still owned by descendants of Alden. 



50 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Raghorn, the snow-white bull, that had fallen to Aldeu's 

allotment 
In the division of cattle, might ruminate in the night-time 25 
Over the pastures he cropped, made fragrant by sweet penny- 
royal. 

Oft when his labor was finished, with eager feet would the 
dreamer 

Follow the pathway that ran through the woods to the house 
of Priscilla, 

Led by illusions romantic and subtle deceptions of fancy. 

Pleasure disguised as duty, and love in the semblance of 
friendship. 30 

Ever of her he thought, when he fashioned the walls of his 
dwelling; 

Ever of her he thought, when he delved in the soil of his 
garden ; 

Ever of her he thought, when he read in his Bible on Sunday 

Praise of the virtuous woman, as she is described in the Prov- 
erbs,^ — 

How the heart of her husband doth safely trust in her 
always, 35 

IIow all the days of her life she will do him good, and not 
evil. 

How she seeketh the wool and the flax and worketh with glad- 
ness. 

How she layeth her hand to the spindle and holdeth the distaff, 

How she is not afraid of the snow for herself or her household, 

Knowing her household are clothed with the scarlet cloth of 
her weaving! 40 

So as slie sat at her wheel one afternoon in the Autumn, 
Alden, who opposite sat, and was watching her dexterous 
fingers, 

1 Proverbs, xxxi. 10-31. 



MILES STANDISH. 51 

As if the thread she was s^oinning were that of liis life aucl his 
fortune, 

After a pause in their talk, thus spake to the sound of the 
spindle. 

''Truly, Priscilla," he said, "when I see you spinning and 
spinning, 45 

Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others. 

Suddenly you are transformed, are visibly changed in a mo- 
ment; 

You are no longer Priscilla, but Bertha the Beautiful Spin- 
ner.'" 

Here the light foot on the treadle grew swifter and swifter; 
the spindle 

Uttered an angry snarl, and the thread snapped short in her 
fingers; 50 

While the impetuous speaker, not heeding the mischief, con- 
tinued: 

" You are the beautiful Bertha, the spinner, the queen of 
Helvetia; * 

She whose story I read at a stall in the streets of Southampton, 

Who, as she rode on her palfrey, o'er valley and meadow and 
mountain, 

Ever was spinning her thread from a distaff fixed to her 
saddle. 55 

She was so thrifty and good, that her name jiassed into a 
proverb. 

So shall it be with your own, when the spinning-wheel shall 
no longer 

Hum in the house of the farmer, and fill its chambers with 
music. 

Then shall the mothers, reproving, relate how it was in their 
childhood, 

J Karl Joseph Simrock's monograph, Bertha die Spin?ierin (Fraukfort, 1853), con- 
tains the legend of Bertha. 

2 The ancient name of Switzerland. 



52 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Praising the good old times, and the days of Priscilla the 
spinuer! " ^0 

Straight uprose from her wheel the beautiful Puritan maiden. 

Pleased with the praise of her thrift from him whose praise ^ 
was the sweetest. 

Drew from the reel on the table a snowy skein of her spin- 
ning, 

Thus making answer, meanwhile, to the flattering phrases of 
Alden: 

"Come, you must not be idle; if I am a pattern for house- 
wives, 05 

Show yourself equally worthy of being the model of husbands. 

Hold this skein on your hands, while I wind it, ready for 
knitting; 

Then who knows but hereafter, when fashions have changed 
and the manners. 

Fathers may talk to their sons of the good old times of John 
Alden!" 

Thus, with a jest and a laugh, the skein on his hands she 
adjusted, 70 

He sitting awkwardly there, with his arms extended before 
him, 

She standing graceful, erect, and winding the thread from his 
fingers. 

Sometimes chiding a little his clumsy manner of holding. 

Sometimes touching his hands, as she disentangled expertly 

Twist or knot in the yarn, unawares — for how could she help 
it ?— 75 

Sending electrical thrills through every nerve in his body. 

Lo! in the midst of this scene, a breathless messenger 
entered. 
Bringing in hurry and heat the terrible news from the village. 
Yes; Miles Standish was dead! — an Indian had brought them 
the tidings, — 



MILES STANDISH. .63 

Slain by a poisoned arrow, shot clown in the front of the 
battle, 80 

Into an ambush beguiled, cut off with the whole of his 
forces ; 

All the town would be burned, and all the people be mur- 
dered ! 

Such were the tidings of evil that burst on the hearts of the 
hearers. 

Silent and statue-like stood Priscilla, her face looking back- 
ward 

Still at the face of the speaker, her arms uplifted in hor- 
ror ; 85 

But John Alden, upstarting, as if the barb of the arrow 

Piercing the heart of his friend had struck his own, and had 
sundered 

Once and forever the bonds that held him bound as a captive, 

AYild with excess of sensation, the awful delight of his freedom. 

Mingled with pain and regret, unconscious of what he was 
doing, 90 

Clasped, almost with a groan, the motionless form of Priscilla, 

Pressing her close to his heart, as forever his own, and ex- 
claiming: 

"Those whom the Lord hath united, let no man put them 
asunder ! ' ' 

Even as rivulets twain, from distant and separate sources. 
Seeing each other afar, as they leap from the rocks, and pur- 
suing 95 
Each one its devious path, but drawing nearer and nearer, 
Eush together at last, at their trysting-place in the forest; 
So these lives that had run thus far in separate channels. 
Coming in sight of each other, then swerving and flowing 

asunder. 
Parted by barriers strong, but drawing nearer and nearer, 100 
Rushed together at last, and one was lost in the other. 



54 THE COUETSHIP OF 

IX. 

THE WEDDING-DAY. 

Forth from the curtain of clouds, from the tent of purple 
and scarlet, 

Issued the sun, the great High-Priest, in his garments re- 
splendent. 

Holiness unto the Lord, in letters of light, on his forehead, 

Eound the hem of his robe the golden bells and pomegran- 
ates.' 

Blessing the world he came, and the bars of vapor beneath 
him 5 

Gleamed like a grate of brass, and the sea at his feet was a 
laver ! 

This was the wedding morn of Priscilla the Puritan maiden. 

Friends were assembled together; the Elder and Magistrate 
also 

Graced the scene with their presence, and stood like the Law 
and the Gospel, 

One with the sanction of earth and one with the blessing of 
heaven. 10 

Simple and brief was the wedding, as that of Ruth and of 
Boaz.^ 

Softly the youth and the maiden repeated the words of be- 
trothal. 

Taking each other for husband and wife in the Magistrate's 
presence. 

After the Puritan way, and the laudable custom of Holland.^ 

* Exodus, xxviii. 

2 Ruth, iv. 11, 12. 

3 "May 12 was the first marriage in this place," says Bradford, "which, according to 
the laudable custome of the Low-Cuntries, in which they had lived, was thought most 
requisite to be performed by the magistrate, as being a civil thing, upon which many 
questions aboute inheritances doe depende, with other things most proper to their cog- 



MILES STANDISH. 55 

Fervently then and devoutly, the excellent Elder of Plym- 
outh 15 

Prayed for the hearth and the home, that were founded that 
day in affection, 

Speaking of life and of death, and imploring Divine benedic- 
tions. 

Lo! when the service was ended, a form appeared on the 
threshold. 

Clad in armor of steel, a sombre and sorrowful figure! 

Why does the bridegroom start and stare at the strange ap- 
parition ? 20 

Why does the bride turn pale, and hide her face on his shoul- 
der ? 

Is it a phantom of air, — a bodiless, spectral illusion? 

Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to forbid the be- 
trothal ? 

Long had it stood there nnseen, a guest uninvited, un wel- 
comed ; 

Over its clouded eyes there had passed at times an expres- 
sion 25 

Softening the gloom and revealing the warm heart hidden 
beneath them. 

As when across the sky the driving rack of the rain cloud 

Grows for a moment thin, and betrays the sun by its bright- 
ness. 

Once it had lifted its hand, and moved its lips, but was silent. 

As if an iron will had mastered the fleeting intention. 30 

But when were ended the troth and the prayer and the last 
benediction. 

Into the room it strode, and the people beheld with amaze- 
ment 

nizans, and most consonante to the scripture, Ruth 4, and no wher found in the gospel] to 
bt layed on the ministers as a part of their office.''— Histonj of Plytnouih Plantation, p. 
101. 



56 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Bodily there in his armor Miles Standish, the Captain of 

Plymouth! 
Grasping the bridegroom's hand, he said with emotion, '^ For- 
give me! 
I have been angry and hurt, — too long have I cherished the 

feeling; 35 

I have been cruel and hard, but now, thank God! it is 

ended. 
Mine is the same hot blood that leaped in the veins of Hugh 

Standish, 
Sensitive, swift to resent, but as swift in atoning for error. 
Never so much as now was Miles Standish the friend of John 

Alden." 
Thereupon answered the bridegroom: "Let all be forgotten 

between us, — 40 

All save the dear old friendship, and that shall grow older and 

dearer ! ' ' 
Then the Captain advanced, and, bowing, saluted Priscilla, 
Gravely, and after the manner of old-fashioned gentry in 

England, 
Something of camp and of court, of town and of country, 

commingled. 
Wishing her joy of her wedding, and loudly lauding her hus- 
band. 45 
Then he said with a smile: " I should have remembered the 

adage, — 
If you would be well served, you must serve yourself; and 

moreover, 
No man can gather cherries in Kent ' at the season of Christ- 



mas: 



? " 



Great was the people's amazement, and greater yet their 
rejoicing, 

1 An old English proverb, Kent is a connty in the south of England. 



MILES STANDISH. 57 

Thus to behold once more the sunburnt face of their Cap- 
tain, 50 

Whom they had mourned as dead; and they gathered and 
crowded about him, 

Eager to see him and hear him, forgetful of bride and of 
bridegroom. 

Questioning, answering, laughing, and each interrupting the 
other. 

Till the good Captain declared, being quite overpowered and 
bewildered. 

He had rather by far break into an Indian encampment, 55 

Than come again to a wedding to which he had not been 
invited. 

Meanwhile the bridegroom went forth and stood with the 
bride at the doorway, 

Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and beautiful morn- 
ing. 

Touched with autumnal tints, but lonely aud sad in the sun- 
shine. 

Lay extended before them the land of toil and privation; 60 

There were the graves of the dead, and the barren waste of 
the seashore, 

There the familiar fields, the groves of pine, and the meadows; 

But to their eyes transfigured, it seemed as the Garden of 
Eden, 

Filled with the presence of God, whose voice was the sound of 
the ocean. 

Soon was their vision disturbed by the noise and stir of 
departure, G5 

Friends coming forth from the house, and impatient of longer 
delaying, 

Each with his plan for the day, and the work that was left 
uncompleted. 



68 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of won- 
der, 
Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of 

Priscilla, 
Brought out his snow-white bull, obeying the hand of its 

master, 70 

Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils. 
Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion placed for a saddle. 
She should not walk, he said, through the dust and heat of the 

noonday; 
Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along like a 

joeasant. 
Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by the others, 75 
Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand of her 

husband, 
Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her palfrey. 
'^ Nothing is wanting now," he said with a smile, ''but the 

distaff; 
Then you would be in truth my queen, my beautiful Bertha! " 

Onward the bridal procession now moved to their new hab- 
itation, 80 

Happy husband and wife, and friends conversing together. 

Pleasantly murmured the brook, as they crossed the ford in 
the forest. 

Pleased with the image that passed, like a dream of love 
through its bosom. 

Tremulous, floating in air, o'er the depths of the azure 
abysses. 

Down through the golden leaves the sun was pouring his 
splendors, 85 

Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches above them 
suspended, 

Mingled their odorous breath with the balm of the pine and 
the fir-tree. 



MILES STANDISH. 59 

Wild and sweet as the clusters tliat grew in the valley of 

Eshcol.' 
Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral ages. 
Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling Rebecca and 

Isaac,' 90 

Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always. 
Love immortal and young in the endless succession of lovers. 
So through the Plymouth woods passed onward the bridal 
, procession. 

1 Near Hebron, in Palestine. From tliere the spies sent by Moses to search out the 
land brought back large clusters of grapes. Numbers, xiii. 23. 

2 Genesis, xsiv. 61-67. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



A PSALM OF LIFE. 

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO 
THE PSALMIST. 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 

" Life is but an empty dream! " 
For the soul is dead that slumbers, 

And things are not what they seem. 

Life is real! Life is earnest! 

And the grave is not its goal; 
" Dust thou art, to dust returnest," 

Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or way; 
But to act, that each to-morrow 

Finds us farther than to-day. 

Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 

And our hearts, though stout and brave. 

Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

In the world's broad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of Life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle! 

Be a hero in the strife! 



62 THE KEAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! 

Let the dead Past bury its dead! 
Act, — act in the living Present! 

Heart within, and God o'erhead! 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of time; 

Footprints, that perhaps another. 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother. 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing. 
With a heart for any fate; 

Still achieving, still pursuing, 
Learn to labor and to wait. 



THE EEAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 

There is a Eeaper, whose name is Death, 

And, with his sickle keen, 
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath. 

And the flowers that grow between, 

" Shall I have nought that is fair? " saith he. 

" Have nought but the bearded grain? 
Tliough the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, 

I will give them all back again." 

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, 
He kissed their drooping leaves; 



FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 63 

It was for the Lord of Paradise 
He bound them in his sheaves. 

" My Lord has need of these flowerets gay/' 

The Eeaper said, and smiled; 
" Dear tokens of the earth are they, 

Where He was once a child. 

"' They shall all bloom in fields of liglit, 

Transplanted by my care, 
And saints, upon their garments white. 

These sacred blossoms wear." 

And the mother gave, in tears and pain, 

The flowers she most did love; 
She knew she should find them all a^^ain 

In the fields of light above. 



'&" 



0, not in cruelty, not in wrath. 

The Reaper came that day; 
'Twas an angel visited the green earth. 

And took the flowers away. 



FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 

When the hours of Day are numberet 
And the voices of the Night 

Wake the better soul, that slumbered. 
To a holy, calm delight; 

Ere the evening lamps are lighted. 
And, like phantoms grim and tall. 

Shadows from the fitful fire-light 
Dance upon the parlor wall; 



64 ' FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 

Then the forms of the departed 

Enter at the open door; 
The beloved, the true-hearted, 

Come to visit me once more; 

He, the young and strong, who cherished 
Noble longings for the strife. 

By the roadside fell and perished. 
Weary with the march of life! 

They, the holy ones and weakly, 
Who the cross of suffering bore, 

Folded their pale hands so meekly, 
Spake with us on earth no more! 

And with them the Being Beauteous, 
Who unto my youth was given, 

More than all things else to love me. 
And is now a saint in heaven. 

With a slow and noiseless footstep 
Comes that messenger divine. 

Takes the vacant chair beside me. 
Lays her gentle hand in mine. 

And she sits and gazes at me 

With those deep and tender eyes. 

Like the stars, so still and saint-like. 
Looking downward from the skies. 

Uttered not, yet comj^rehended, 
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer. 

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended. 
Breathing from her lips of air. 



THE BELEAGUERED CITY. 65 

0, though oft depressed and lonely. 

All my fears are laid aside, 
If I but remember only 

Such as these have lived and died! 



THE BELEAGUERED CITY. 

I HAVE read, in some old marvellous tale, 
Some legend strange and vague. 

That a midnight host of spectres pale 
Beleaguered the walls of Prague. 

Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, 
With the wan moon overhead, 

There stood, as in an awful dream, 
The army of the dead. 

White as a sea-fog, landward bound, 

The spectral camp was seen. 
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound. 

The river flowed between. 

Xo other voice nor sound was there, 

No drum, nor sentry's pace; 
The mist-like banners clasped the air, 

As clouds with clouds embrace. 

But, when the old cathedral bell 
Proclaimed the morning prayer, 

The white pavilions rose and fell 
On the alarmed air. 



i){y THE BELEAGUERED CITY. 

Down the broad valley fast and far 

The troubled army fled; 
Up rose the glorious morning star. 

The ghastly host was dead. 

I have read, in the marvellous heart of man, 
That strange and mystic scroll. 

That an army of phantoms vast and wan 
Beleaguer the human soul. 

Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, 

In Fancy's misty light. 
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam 

Portentous through the night. 

Upon its midnight battle-ground 

The spectral camp is seen. 
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound. 

Flows the Eiver of Life between. 

No other voice nor sound is there. 

In the army of the grave; 
No other challenge breaks the air. 

But the rushing of Life's wave. 

And, when the solemn and deep cliurch-bell 

Entreats the soul to pray, 
The midnight phantoms feel the spell. 

The shadows sweep away. 

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar 

The spectral camp is fled; 
Faith shineth as a morning star. 

Our ghastly fears are dead. 



HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS. 67 



HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF 
BETHLEHEM. 

AT THE CONSECRATION OF TULASKl's BANNER. 

When the dying flame of day 
Through the chancel shot its ray. 
Far from the glimmering tapers slied 
Faint light on the cowled head; 
And the censer Inirning swung, 
Where, before the altar, hung 
The l)lood-red banner, that with prayer 
Had been consecrated there. 
And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard tlu^ while, 
Sung low in the dim, mysterious aisle. 

'' Take thy banner! May it wave 
Proudly o'er the good and brave; 
AVhen the battle's distant wail 
Breaks the Sabbath of our vale, 
When the clarion's music thrills 
To the hearts of these lone hills. 
When the spear in conflict shakes. 
And the strong lance shivering l^reaks. 

" Take thy banner! and, beneath 
The battle-cloud's encircling wreath. 
Guard it! — till our homes are free! 
Guard it! — God will prosper thee! 
In the dark and trying hour. 
In the breaking forth of power. 
In the rush of steeds and men. 
His right hand will shield thee then. 



68 BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK. 

" Take thy banner! But, when night 

Closes round the ghastly fight. 

If the vanquished warrior bow, 

Spare him! — By our holy vow. 

By our prayers and many tears. 

By the mercy that endears, 

Spare him! — he our love hath shared! 

Spare him! — as thou wouldst be spared! 

'' Take thy banner! — and if e'er 
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier. 
And the mutHed drum should beat 
To the tread of mournful feet. 
Then this crimson flag shall be 
Martial cloak and shroud for thee." 

The warrior took that banner proud. 
And it was his martial cloak and shroud! 



BUEIAL OF THE MINNISINK. 

On sunny slope and beechen swell. 
The shadowed light of evening fell; 
And, where the maple's leaf was brown, 
With soft and silent lapse came down 
The glory, that the wood receives, 
At sunset, in its brazen leaves. 

Far upward in the mellow light 
Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white, 
Around a far uplifted cone. 
In the warm blush of evening sho:ne; 
An image of the silver lakes. 
By which the Indian's soul awakes. 



BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK. 69 

But soon a funeral hymn was heard 
Where the soft breath of evening stirred 
The tall, gray forest; and a band 
Of stern in heart, and strong in hand. 
Came winding down beside the wave. 
To lay the red chief in his grave. 

They sang, that by his native bowers 
He stood, in the last moon of flowers. 
And thirty snows had not yet shed 
Their glory on the warrior's head; 
But, as the summer fruit decays, 
So died he in those naked days. 

A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin 
Covered the warrior, and within 
Its heavy folds the weapons, made 
For the hard toils of war, were laid; 
The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds, 
And the broad belt of shells and beads. 

Before, a dark-haired virgin train 
Chanted the death dirge of the slain; 
Behind, the long procession came 
Of hoary men and chiefs of fame. 
With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief. 
Leading the war-horse of their chief. 

Stripped of his proud and martial dress. 
Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless. 
With darting e3^e, and nostril spread, 
And heavy and impatient tread. 
He came; and oft that eye so proud 
Asked for his rider in the crowd. 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR. 

They buried the dark chief, they freed 
Beside the grave his battle steed; 
And swift an arrow cleaved its way 
To his stern heart! One piercing neigh 
Arose — and, on the dead man's plain, 
The rider grasjDS his steed again. 

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR. 

'^ Speak! sj^eak! thou fearful guest! 
Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armor drest, 

Comest to daunt me! 
Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
But with thy fleshless palms 
Stretched, as if asking alms. 

Why dost thou haunt me? '^ 

Then, from those cavernous eyes 
Pale flashes seemed to rise. 
As when the Northern skies 

Gleam in December; » 

And, like the water's flow 
ITnder December's snow. 
Came a dull voice of woe 

From the heart's chamber. 

^' I was a Viking old! 

My deeds, though manifold. 

No Skald in song has told. 

No Saga taught thee! 
Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse. 
Else dread a dead man's curse; 

For this I sought thee. 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR. 71 

^' Far in the Northern Land, 
By the wild Baltic's strand, 
I, with my childish hand, 

Tamed the gerfalcon; 
And, with my skates fast-bound. 
Skimmed the half -frozen Sound, 
That the poor whimpering hound 

Trembled to walk on. 

'" Oft to his frozen lair 
Tracked I the grisly bear. 
While from my path the hare 

Fled like a shadow; 
Oft through the forest dark 
Followed the were-wolf s bark. 
Until the soaring lark 

Sang from the meadow. 

" But when I older grew. 
Joining a corsair's crew, 
O'er the dark sea I flew 

With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we led; 
Many the souls that sped, 
Many the hearts that bled. 

By our stern orders. 

" Many a wassail-bout 
Wore the long Winter out; 
Often our midnight shout 

Set the cocks crowing. 
As we the Berserk's tale 
Measured in cups of ale, 
Praining the oaken pail. 

Filled to overflowing. 



72 THE SKELETON IN AEMOR. 

" Once as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea. 
Soft eyes did gaze on me. 

Burning yet tender; 
And as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway pine, 
On that dark heart of mine 

Fell their soft splendor. 

^' I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 
Yielding, yet half afraid. 
And in the forest's shade 

Our vows were plighted. 
Under its loosened vest 
Fluttered her little breast, 
Like birds within their nest 

By the hawk frighted. 

" Bright in her father's hall 
Shields gleamed upon the wall. 
Loud sang the minstrels all, 

Chaunting his glory; 
When of old Hildebrand 
I asked his daughter's hand, 
Mute did the minstrels stand 

To hear my story. 

" While the brown ale he quaffed, 
Loud then the champion laughed. 
And as the wind-gusts waft 

The sea-foam brightly, 
So the loud laugh of scorn. 
Out of those lips unshorn. 
From the deep drinking-horn 

Blew the foam lightly. 



THE SKELETON IN AKMOR. 

'' She was a Prince's child, 

I but a Viking wild, 

And though she blushed and smiled, 

I was discarded! 
Should not the dove so white 
Follow the sea-mew's flight. 
Why did they leave that night 

Her nest unguarded? 

" Scarce had I put to sea, 
Bearing the maid with me, — 
Fairest of all was she 

Among the Norsemen! — 
When on the white sea-strand, 
Waving his armed hand. 
Saw we old Hildebrand, 

With twenty horsemen. 

" Then launched they to the blast. 
Bent like a reed each mast. 
Yet we were gaining fast. 

When the wind failed us; 
And with a sudden flaw 
Came round the gusty Skaw, 
So that our foe we saw 

Laugh as he hailed us. 

" And as to catch the gale 
Eound veered the flapping sail, 
Death! was the helmsman's hail, 

Death without quarter! 
Mid-ships with iron keel 
Struck we her ribs of steel; 
Down her black hulk did reel 

Through the black water! 



74 THE SKELETON IN ARMOK. 

^' As with his wings aslant^ 
Sails the fierce cormorant, 
Seeking some rocky haunt, 

With his prey laden. 
So toward the open main. 
Beating to sea again. 
Through the wild hurricane 

Bore I the maiden. 

" Three weeks we westward bore, 
And when the storm was o'er. 
Cloud-like we saw the shore 

Stretching to lee-ward; 
There for my lady's bower 
Built I the lofty tower, 
Which, to this very hour, 

Stands looking seaward. 

" There lived we many years; 
Time dried the maiden's tears; 
She had forgot her fears. 

She was a mother; 
Death closed her mild blue eyes. 
Under that tower she lies; 
Ne'er shall the sun arise 

On such another! 

" Still grew my bosom then, 
Still as a stagnant fen! 
Hateful to me were men. 

The sunlight hateful! 
In the vast forest here. 
Clad in my warlike gear, 
Fell I upon my spear, 

G, death was grateful! 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 75 

" Thus, seamed with many scars 
Bursting these prison bars, 
IT]) to its native stars 

My soul ascended! 
There from the flowing bowl 
Deep drinks the warrior's soul, 
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!'' 

— Thus the tale ended. 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 

It was the schooner Hesperus, 

That sailed the wintry sea; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter. 

To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax. 
Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds. 
That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm, . 

His pipe was in his mouth. 
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow 

The smoke now West, now South. 

Then up and spake an old sailor. 

Had sailed the Spanish Main, 
" I pray thee, put into yonder port. 

For I fear a hurricane. 

" Last night the moon had a golden ring. 
And to-night no moon we see! " 

The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe, 
And a scornful laugh laughed he. 



76 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 

Colder and colder blew the wind, 

A gale from the Xorth-east; 
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain 

The vessel in its strength; 
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed. 

Then leaped her cable's length. 

" Come hither! come hither! my little daughter. 

And do not tremble so; 
For I can ride the roughest gale. 

That ever wind did blow." 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 

Against the stinging blast; 
He cut a rope from a l3roken spar. 

And bound her to the mast. 

" father! I hear the church-bells ring, 

say, what may it be ? " 
"'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast! " — 

And he steered for the open sea. 

" father! I hear the sound of guns, 

say, what may it be? " 
" Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea! " 

^^ father! I see a gleaming light, 

say, what may it be ? " 
But the father answered never a word, 

A frozen corpse was he. 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 77 

Lashed to the hehn^ all stiff and stark^ 

With his face turned to the skies, 
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow 

On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed 

That saved she might he; 
And she thought of Christ who stilled the wave, 

On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow, 

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 

Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 

And ever the fitful gusts between 

A sound came from the land; 
It was the sound of the trampling surf. 

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows. 

She drifted a dreary wreck. 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool, 
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice. 

With the masts went by the board; 
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank. 

Ho! ho! the breakers roared! 



78 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 

At daybreak^ on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast, 
To see the form of a maiden fair, 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed. 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 
In the midnight and the snow! 

Christ save us all from a death like this, 
On the reef of Norman's Woe! 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 

Under a spreading chestnut tree 

The village smithy stands; 
The smith, a mighty man is he, 

With large and sinewy hands; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long, 

His face is like the tan; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat. 

He earns whate'er he can, 
And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night, 
You can hear his bellows blow; 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 79 

You can hear him swing his heavy sletlge 

With measured beat and slow, 
Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 

When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school 

Look in at the open door; 
They love to see the flaming forge. 

And hear the bellows roar, 
And catch the burning sparks that fly 

Like chaff from a threshing floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church. 

And sits among his boys; 
Lie hears the parson pray and preach. 

He hears his daughter's voice. 
Singing in the village choir. 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 

It sounds to him like her mother's voice. 

Singing in Paradise! 
He needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she lies; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing. 

Onward through life he goes; 
Each morning sees some task begin. 

Each evening sees it close; 
Something attempted, something done. 

Has earned a night's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend. 
For the lesson thou hast taught! 



80 EXCELSIOR. 

Thus at the flaming forge of life 
Our fortunes must be wrought; 

Thus on the sounding anvil shaped 
Each burning deed and thought! 

EXCELSIOK. 

The shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner, with the strange device, 
Excelsior! 

His brow was sad; his eye beneath, 
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, 
And like a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue. 
Excelsior! 

In happy homes he saw the light 
Of household fires gleam warm and bright; 
Above, the spectral glaciers shone. 
And from his lips escaped a groan, 
Excelsior! 

'' Try not the Pass! " the old man said; 
" Dark lowers the tempest overhead, 
The roaring torrent is deep and wide! " 
And loud that clarion voice replied, 
Excelsior! 

'' stay," the maiden said, " and rest 
Thy weary head upon this breast! " 
A tear stood in his bright blue eye. 
But still he answered, with a sigh. 
Excelsior! 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES. 81 

''Beware the pine-tree's Avithered branch! 
Beware the awful avalanche! " 
This was the peasant's last Good-night, 
A voice replied, far up the height, 
Excelsior! 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of St. Bernard 
Uttered tlie oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried through the startled air, 
Excelsior! 

A traveller, by the faithful hound, 
Half -buried in the snow was found, 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device. 
Excelsior! 

There in the twilight cold and gray. 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, 
And from the sky, serene and far, 
A voice fell, like a falling star, 
Excelsior! 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES. 

In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and 

brown ; 
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er 

the town. 

As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I 

stood. 
And the world threw off the darkness, like the weeds of 

widowhood. 
6 



82 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES. 

Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams and 
vapors gray, 

Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the land- 
scape lay. 

At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here and 
there. 

Wreaths of snow-white smoke, ascending, vanished, ghost- 
like, into air. 

Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour, 
But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower. 

From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild 

and high; 
And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than 

the sky. 

Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times. 
With their strange, unearthly changes rang the melanl^holy 
chimes. 

Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing 

in the choir; 
And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of 

a friar. 

Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my 

brain; 
They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again; 

All the Foresters of Flanders, — mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer, 
Lyderick du Bucq and Cressy, Philip, Guy de Dampierree 



THE BELFHY OF BRUGES. 83 

1 beheld the pageants splendid, that adorned those days of old; 
Stately dames, like queens attended, knights who bore the 
Fleece of Gold; 

Lombard and Venetian merchants with deep-laden argosies; 
Ministers from twenty nations; more than royal pomp and 
ease. 

I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the 

ground; 
I beheld the gentle Mary, hunting with her hawk and hound; 

And the lighted bridal-chamber, where a duke slept with the 

queen, 
And the armed guard around them, and the sword unsheathed 

between. 

I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Namur and Juliers bold. 
Marching homeward from the bloody battle of the Spurs of 
Gold; 

Saw the fight at Minnewater, saw the White Hoods moving 

west. 
Saw great Artevelde victorious scale the Golden Dragon's 

nest. 

And again the whiskered Spaniard all the land with terror 

smote; 
And again the wild alarum sounded from the tocsin's throat; 

Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and dike of 

sand, 
" I am Eoland! I am Roland! there is victory in the land! " 



84 THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD. 

Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awakened city's 

roar 
Chased the phantoms I had summoned back into their graves 

once more. 

Hours had passed away like minutes; and, before I was aware, 
Lo! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined square. 



THE AESEN^AL AT SPRINGFIELD. 

This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, 
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms; 

But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing 
Startles the villages with strange alarms. 

Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, 
When the death-angel touches those swift keys! 

What loud lament and dismal Miserere 
Will mingle with their awful symphonies! 

I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus. 

The cries of agony, the endless groan, 
Which, through the ages that have gone before us. 

In long reverberations reach our own. 

On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer. 

Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song. 

And loud, amid the universal clamor. 

O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. 

I hear the Florentine, who from his palace 
Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din. 

And Aztec priests upon their teocallis 

Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin; 



THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD. 85 

The tumult of each sacked and burning village; 

The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns; 
The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage; 

The wail of famine in beleaguered towns; 

The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder. 
The rattling musketry, the clashing blade; 

And ever and anon, in tones of thunder. 
The diapason of the cannonade. 

Is it, man, with such discordant noises. 
With such accursed instruments as these, 

Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices. 
And jarrest the celestial harmonies? 

AYere half the power, that fills the world with terror, 
Were half the wealth, bestowed on camps and courts. 

Given to redeem the human mind from error. 
There were no need of arsenals nor forts: 

The warrior's name would be a name abhorred! 

And every nation, that should lift again 
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead 

Would wear for evermore the curse of Cain! 

Down the dark future, through long generations. 
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease; 

And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, 

I hear once more the voice of Christ say, " Peace! " 

Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals 
The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies! 

But beautiful as songs of the immortals. 
The holy melodies of love arise. 



SQ NUREMBERG. 



NUREMBEliG. 

Ix the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow- 
lands 

J?ise the blue Franconian mountains^ Nuremberg, the ancient, 
stands. 

Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old town of art 

and song, 
Memories haunt thy pointed gables, like the rooks that round 

them throng: 

Memories of the Middle Ages, when the emperors, rough and 

bold, 
Had their dwelling in thy castle, time-defying, centuries old; 

And thy brave and thrifty burghers boasted, in their uncouth 

rhyme, 
That their great imperial city stretched its hand through 

every clime. 

In the court-yard of the castle, bound with many an iron band, 
Stands the mighty linden planted by Queen Cunigunde's 
hand; 

On the square the oriel window, where in old heroic days. 
Sat the poet Melchior singing Kaiser Maximilian's praise. 

Everywhere I see around me rise the wondrous world of Art: 
Fountains wrought with richest sculpture standing in the 
common mart; 

And above cathedral doorways saints and bishops carved in 

stone. 
By a former age commissioned as apostles to our own. 



. NUREMBERG. 87 

In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy 

dust, 
And in bronze the Twelve iVpostles guard from age to age 

their trust; 

Tn the cliurch of sainted Lawrence stands a pix of sculpture 

rare. 
Like the foamy sheaf of fountains, rising through the painted 

air. 

Here, when Art was still religion, with a simple, reverent 

heart. 
Lived and labored Albrecht Dlirer, the Evangelist of Art; 

Hence in silence and in sorrow, toiling still with busy hand. 
Like an emigrant he wandered, seeking for the Better Land. 

Emigravit is the inscription on the tombstone where he 

lies; 
Dead he is not, — but departed, — for the artist never dies. 

Fairer seems the ancient city, and the sunshine seems more 

fair. 
That he once has trod its pavement, that he once has breathed 

its air! 

Through these streets so broad and stately, these obscure and 

dismal lanes, 
Walked of yore the Mastersingers, chanting rude poetic 

strains. 

From remote and sunless suburbs, came they to the friendly 

guild. 
Building nests in Fame's great temple, as in spouts the 

swallows build. 



88 NUREMBERG. 

As the weaver plied the shuttle^ wove he too the mystic 

rhyme, 
And the smith his iron measures hammered to the anvil's 

chime; 

Thanking God, whose honndless wisdom makes the flowers of 

poesy bloom 
In the forge's dust and cinders, in the tissues of the loom. 

Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler-poet, laureate of the gentle 

craft. 
Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters, in huge folios sang and 

laughed. 

But his house is now an ale-house, with a nicely sanded floor, 
And a garland in the window, and his face above the door; 

Painted by some humble artist, as in Adam Puschman's song. 
As the old man gray and dove-like, with his great beard white 
and long. 

And at night the swart mechanic comes to drown his cark 

and care, 
Quafhng ale from pewter tankards, in the master's antique 

chair. 

Vanished is the ancient splendor, and before my dreamy eye 
Wave these mingling shapes and figures, like a faded tapestry. 

Not thy Councils, not tliy Kaisers, win for thee the world's 

regard; 
But thy painter, Albrecht Diirer, and Hans Sachs, thy 

cobbler-bard. 



THE NORMAN BARON. 89 

Thus, Xureniberg, a wanderer from a region far away, 
As he paced thy streets and court-yards, sang in thought his 
careless hiy: 

Gathering from the jiavement's crevice, as a floweret of the 

soil, 
The nobility of labor, — the long pedigree of toil. 



THE NORMAX BAROK 

In his chamber, weak and dying, 
Was the Xorman baron lying; 
Loud, without, the tempest thundered, 
And the castle turret shook. 

In this fight was Death the gainer, 
Spite of vassal and retainer. 
And the lands his sires had plundered, 
Written in the Doomsday Book. 

By his bed a monk was seated. 
Who in humble voice repeated 
Many a prayer and pater-noster. 
From the missal on his knee; 

And, amid the tempest pealing. 
Sounds of bells came faintly stealing. 
Bells, that, from the neighboring kloster, 
Eang for the Nativity. 

In the hall, the serf and vassal 

Held, that night, their Christmas wassail; 

Many a carol, old and saintly. 

Sang the minstrels and the waits. 



90 THE KORMAN BARON. 

And so loud these Saxon gleemen 
Sang to slaves the songs of freemen, 
That the storm was heard but faintly, 
Knocking at the castle-gates. 

Till at length the lays they channted 
Eeached the chamber terror-haunted, 
Where the monk, with accents holy. 
Whispered at the baron's ear. 

Tears upon his eyelids glistened. 
As he paused awhile and listened, 
And the dying baron slowly 

Turned his weary head to hear. 

" Wassail for the kingly stranger 
Born and cradled in a manger! 
King, like David, priest, like Aaron, 
Christ is born to set us free! " 

And the lightning showed the sainted 
Figures on the casement painted, 
And exclaimed the shuddering baron, 
" Miserere, Domine! " 

In that hour of deep contrition, 
He beheld, with clearer vision. 
Through all outward show and fashion, 
Justice, the Avenger, rise. 

All the pomp of earth had vanished. 
Falsehood and deceit were banished, 
Eeason spake more loud than passion. 
And the truth wore no disguise. 



RAIN IN SUMMER. 91 

Every vassal of his banner, 
Every serf born to their manor, 
All those wronged and wretched creatures, 
By his hand were freed again. 

And, as on the sacred missal 
He recorded their dismissal, 
Death relaxed his iron features. 

And the monk replied, '' Amen! " 

Many centuries have been numbered 
Since in death the baron slumbered 
By the convent's sculptured portal. 
Mingling with the common dust: 

But the good deed, through the ages 
Living in historic pages, 
Brighter grows and gleams immortal, 
Unconsumed by moth or rust. 



KAIN IN SUMMEK. 

How beautiful is the rain! 

After the dust and heat, 

In the broad and fiery street, 

In the narrow lane. 

How beautiful is the rain! 

How it clatters along the roofs. 

Like the tramp of hoofs! 

How it gushes and struggles out 

From the throat of the overflowing spout! 

Across the window pane 



92 RAIN IN SUMMER. 

It pours and pours; 

And swift and wide, 

With a muddy tide, 

Like a river down the gutter roars 

The rain, the welcome rain! 

The sick man from liis chamber looks 

At the twisted brooks; 

He can feel the cool 

Breath of each little pool; 

His fevered brain 

Grows calm again, 

And he breathes a blessing on the rain. 

From the neighboring school 

Come the boys. 

With more than their wonted noise 

And commotion; 

And down the wet streets 

Sail their mimic fleets, 

Till the treacherous pool 

Engulfs them in its whirling 

And turbulent ocean. 

In the country, on every side. 

Where far and wide. 

Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide. 

Stretches the plain. 

To the dry grass and tlie drier grain 

How welcome is the rain! 

In the furrowed land 
The toilsome and patient oxen stand; 
Lifting the yoke-encumbered head. 
With their dilated nostrils spread. 



KAIN IN SUMMER. 93 

They silently inhale 

The clover-scented gale, 

And the vapors that arise 

From the well-watered and smoking soil; 

For this rest in the furrow after toil 

Their large and lustrous eyes 

Seem to thank the Lord, 

More than man's spoken word. 

Near at hand. 

From under the sheltering trees. 

The farmer sees 

His pastures, and his fields of grain. 

As they bend their tops 

To the numberless beating drops 

Of the incessant rain. 

He counts it as no sin 

That he sees therein 

Only his own thrift and gain. 

These, and far more than these. 

The Poet sees! 

He can behold 

Aquarius old 

Walking the fenceless fields of air; 

And from each ample fold 

Of the clouds about him rolled 

Scattering everywhere 

The showery rain, 

As the farmer scatters his grain. 

He can behold 

Things manifold 

That have not yet been wholly told, 



94 KAIN IN SUMMER. 

Have not been wholly sung nor said. 

For his thought^ that never stops. 

Follows the water-drops 

Down to the graves of the dead, 

Down through chasms and gulfs 2)rofound, 

To the dreary fountain-head 

Of lakes and rivers under ground; 

And sees them, when the rain is done, 

On the bridge of colors seven 

Climbing up once more to heaven, 

Opposite the setting sun. 

Thus the Seer, 

With vision clear, 

Sees forms appear and disappear, 

In the perpetual round of strange. 

Mysterious change 

From birth to death, from death to birth. 

From earth to heaven, from heaven to eartli; 

Till glimpses more sublime 

Of things, unseen before, 

Unto his wondering eyes reveal 

The Universe, as an immeasurable wheel 

Turning for evermore 

In the rapid and rushing river of Time. 



THE BRIDGE. 

I STOOD on the bridge at midnight. 
As the clocks were striking the hour 

x\nd the moon rose o'er the city, 
Behind the dark church-tower. 



THE BRIDGE. 95 

I saw her bright reflection 

In the waters under me. 
Like a golden goblet falling 

And sinking into the sea. 

And far in the hazy distance 

Of that lovely night in June, 
The blaze of the flaming furnace 

Gleamed redder than the moon. 

Among the long, black rafters 

The wavering shadows lay, 
And the current that came from the ocean 

Seemed to lift and bear them away; 

As, sweeping and eddying through them, 

Eose the belated tide, 
And, streaming into the moonlight. 

The seaweed floated wide. 

And like those waters rushing 

Among the wooden piers, 
A flood of thoughts came o'er me 

That filled my eyes with tears. 

How often, 0, how often, 

In the days that had gone by, 
I had stood on that bridge at midnight, 

And gazed on that wave and sky! 

How often, 0, how often, 

I had wished that the ebbing tide 
Would bear me away on its bosom 

O'er the ocean wild and wide! 



96 THE BRIDGE. 

For my heart was hot and restless, 
And my life was full of care, 

And the burden laid upon me 

Seemed greater than I could bear. 

But now it has fallen from me. 

It is buried in the sea; 
And only the sorrow of others 

Throws its shadow over me. 

Yet whenever I cross the river 
On its bridge with wooden piers, 

Like the odor of brine from the ocean 
Comes the thought of other years. 

And I think how many thousands 
Of care-encumbered men, 

Each bearing his burden of sorrow, 
Have crossed the bridge since then. 

I see the long procession 

Still passing to and fro. 
The young heart hot and restless. 

And the old subdued and slow! 

And forever and forever. 
As long as the river flows, 

As long as the heart has passions. 
As long as life has woes; 

The moon and its broken reflection 
And its shadows shall appear. 

As the symbol of love in heaven. 
And its wavering image here. 



SEAWEED. 97 



SEAWEED. 

When descends on the Atlantic 

The gigantic 
Storm-wind of the equinox^ 
Landward in his wrath he scourges 

The toiling surges. 
Laden with seaweed from the rocks: 

From Bermuda's reefs; from edges 

Of sunken ledges, 
In some far-off, bright Azore; 
From Bahama, and the dashing. 

Silver-flashing 
Surges of San Salvador; 

From the tumbling surf, that buries 

The Orkneyan skerries. 
Answering the hoarse Hebrides; 
And from wrecks of ships, and drifting 

Spars, uplifting 
On the desolate, rainy seas; — 

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On the shifting 
Currents of the restless main; 
Till in sheltered coves, and reaches 

Of sandy beaches. 
All have found repose again. 

So when storms of wild emotion 

Strike the ocean 
Of the poet's soul, ere long 

7 



98 THE DAY IS DONE. 

From each cave and rocky fastness. 

In its vastness. 
Floats some fragment of a song: 

From the far-off isles enchanted, 

Heaven has j^lanted 
With the golden fruit of Truth; 
From the flashing surf, whose vision 

Gleams Elysian 
In the tropic clime of Youth; 

From the strong Will, and the Endeavor 

That forever 
Wrestles with the tides of Fate; 
From the wreck of Hopes far-scattered. 

Tempest-shattered, 
Floating waste and desolate; — 

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On the shifting 
Currents of the restless heart; 
Till at length in books recorded. 

They, like hoarded 
Household words, no more depart. 

THE DAY IS DONE. 

The day is done, and the darkness 
Falls from the wings of Night, 

As a feather is wafted downward 
From an eagle in his flight. 

I see the lights of the village 

Gleam through the rain and the mist, 

And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, 
•That my soul cannot resist: 



THE DAY IS DONE. 99 

A feeling of sadness and longing, 

That is not akin to pain, 
And resembles sorrow only 

As the mist resembles the rain. 

Come, read to me some poem. 

Some simple and heartfelt lay. 
That shall soothe this restless feeling. 

And banish the thoughts of day. 

Not fron] the grand old masters, 

Not from the bards sublime. 
Whose distant footsteps echo 

Through the corridors of Time. 

For, like strains of martial music, 

Their mighty thoughts suggest 
Life's endless toil and endeavor; 

And to-night I long for rest. 

Eead from some humbler poet, 

AVhose songs gushed from his heart. 

As showers from the clouds of summer. 
Or tears from the eyelids start; 

Who, through long days of labor. 

And nights devoid of ease, 
Still heard in his soul the music 

Of wonderful melodies. 

Such songs have power to quiet 

The restless pulse of care, 
And come like the benediction 

That follows after prayer. 
Life. 



100 THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 

Then read from the treasured volume 

The poem of thy choice, 
And lend to the rhyme of the poet 

The beauty of thy voice. 

And the night shall be filled with music^ 
And the cares that infest the day, 

Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 
And as silently, steal away. 



THE ARROW A^^D THE SONG. 

I SHOT an arrow into the air. 
It fell to earth, I knew not where; 
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
C'Ould not follow it in its flight. 

I breathed a song into the air. 
It fell to earth, I knew not where; 
For who has sight so keen and strong. 
That it can follow the flight of song? 

Long, long afterward, in an oak 
I found the arrow, still unbroke; 
And the song, from beginning to end, 
I found again in the heart of a friend. 



THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 

Somewhat back from the village street 
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat. 
Across its antique portico 
Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw. 



THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 101 

And from its station in tlie hall 
An ancient timepiece says to all^ — 
" Forever — never! 
Xever — forever! " 

Halfway up the stairs it stands, 
And points and beckons with its hands 
From its case of massive oak, 
Like a monk, who, under his cloak. 
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas! 
With sorrowful voice to all who pass, — 
'^ Forever — never! 
Never — forever! '' 

By day its voice is low and light; 
But in the silent dead of night. 
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall. 
It echoes along the vacant hall. 
Along the ceiling, along the floor. 
And seems to say, at each chamber-door, — 
" Forever — never! 
Never — forever! " 

Through days of sorrow and of mirth. 
Through days of death and days of birth. 
Through every swift viscissitude 
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, 
And as if, like God, it all things saw. 
It calmly repeats those words of awe, — 
" Forever — never! 
Never — forever! " 

In that mansion used to be 
Free-hearted Hospitality; 
His great fires up the chimney roared; 
The stranger feasted at his board; 



102 THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 

But, like the skeleton at the feast. 
That warning timepiece never ceased, — 
'^ Forever — never! 
Never — forever! " 

There groups of merry children played, 
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed; 
precious hours! golden prime, 
And affluence of love and time! 
Even as a miser counts his gold, 
Those hours the ancient timepiece told, — 
" Forever — never! 
Never — forever! " 

From that chamber, clothed in white. 
The bride came forth on her wedding night; 
There, in that silent room below. 
The dead lay in his shroud of snow; 
And in the hush that followed the prayer. 
Was heard the old clock on the stair, — 
'^ Forever — never! 
Never — forever! " 

All are scattered now and fled. 
Some are married, some are dead; 
And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
"Ah! when shall they all meet again?" 
As in the days long since gone by. 
The ancient timepiece makes reply, — 
" Forever — never! 
Never — forever! " 

Never here, forever there. 
Where all parting, pain, and care, 
And death, and time shall disappear,— 
Forever there, but never here! 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 103 

The horologe of Eternity 
Sayeth this incessantly, — 
" Forever — never! 
Never — forever! " 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 

^' Build me straight, worthy Master! 

Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel, 
That shall laugh at all disaster. 

And with wave and whirlwind wrestle! " 

The merchant's word 

Delighted the Master heard; 

For his heart was in his work, and the heart 

Givetli grace unto every Art. 

A quiet smile played round his lips. 

As the eddies and dimples of the tide 

Play round the hows of ships. 

That steadily at anchor ride. 

And with a voice that was full of glee. 

He answered, " Ere long we will launcli 

A vessel as goodly, and strong, and staunch, 

As ever weathered a wintry sea! " 

And first with nicest skill and art, 
Perfect and finished in every part, 
A little model the Master wrought, 
AYhich should he to the larger plan 
What the child is to the man. 
Its counterpart in miniature; 
That with a hand more swift and sure 
The greater lahor might be brought 
To answer to his inward thought. 



104 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 

And as he labored, his mind ran o'er 

The various ships that were built of yore, 

And above them all, and strangest of all 

Towered the Great Harry, crank and tall. 

Whose picture was hanging on the wall, 

With bows and stern raised high in air. 

And balconies hanging here and there, 

And signal lanterns and flags afloat. 

And eight round towers, like those that frown 

From some old castle, looking down 

Upon the drawbridge and the moat. 

And^he said with a smile, "Our ship, I wis. 

Shall be of another form than this! " 

It was of another form, indeed; 

Built for freiglit, and yet for speed, 

A beautiful and gallant craft; 

Broad in the beam, that the stress of the blast 

Pressing down upon sail and mast, 

Might not tlie sharp bows overwhelm; 

Broad in the beam, but sloping aft 

With graceful curve and slow degrees. 

That she might be docile to the helm. 

And that the currents of parted seas. 

Closing behind, with mighty force. 

Might aid and not impede her course. 

In the shipyard stood the Master, 

With the model of the vessel. 
That should laugh at all disaster, 

And with wave and whirlwind wrestle! 

Covering many a rood of ground. 
Lay the timber piled around; 
Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak, 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 105 

And scattered here and there, with these. 

The knarred and, crooked cedar knees; 

Brought from regions far away, 

From Pascagoula's sunny bay, 

And the banks of the roaring Roanoke! 

Ah! what a wondrous thing it is 

To note liow many wheels of toil 

One thought, one word, can set in motion! 

There's not a ship that sails the ocean. 

But every climate, every soil, 

Must bring its tribute, great or small. 

And help to build the wooden wall! 

The sun was rising o'er the sea. 
And long the level shadows lay, 
As if they, too, the beams would be 
Of some great, airy argosy. 
Framed and launched in a single day. 
That silent architect, the sun, 
Had hewn and laid them every one. 
Ere the work of man was yet begun. 
Beside the Master, when he spoke, 
A youth, against an anchor leaning. 
Listened, to catch his slightest meaning. 
Only the long waves, as they broke 
In ripples on the pebbly beach, 
Interrupted the old man's speech. 

Beautiful they w^ere, in sooth. 
The old man and the fiery youth! 
The old man, in whose busy brain 
Many a ship that sailed the main 
Was modelled o'er and o'er again; — 
The fiery youth, who was to be 



106 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 

The heir of his dexterity, 

The heir of his house, and his daughter's hand, 
When he had built and launched from land 
What the elder head had planned. 

"Thus/' said he, *^^ will we build this ship! 

Lay square the blocks upon the slip, 

And follow well this plan of mine. 

Choose the timbers with greatest care; 

Of all that is unsound beware; 

For only what is sound and strong 

To this vessel shall belong. 

Cedar of Maine and Georgia pine 

Here together shall combine. 

A goodly frame, and a goodly fame. 

And the Union be her name! 

For the day that gives her to the sea 

Shall give my daughter unto thee! " 

The Master's word 

Fnraptured the young man heard; 

And as he turned his face aside. 

With a look of joy and a thrill of pride 

Standing before 

Her father's door. 

He saw the form of his promised bride. 

The sun shone on her golden hair. 

And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair. 

With the breath of morn and the soft sea air. 

Like a beauteous barge was she. 

Still at rest on the sandy beach, 

Just be3'0nd the billow's reach; 

But he 

Was the restless, seething, stormy sea! 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 107 

Ah, how skilful grows the hand 
That obeyeth Love's command! 
It is the heart, and not the brain. 
That to the highest doth attain, 
And he who followeth Love's behest 
Far exceedeth all the rest! 

Thus with the rising of the sun 

Was the noble task begun. 

And soon throughout the shipyard's bounds 

AVere heard the intermingled sounds 

Of axes and of mallets, plied 

With vigorous arms on every side; 

Plied so deftly and so well, 

That, ere the shadows of evening fell, 

The keel of oak for a noble ship, 

Scarfed and bolted, straight and strong, 

Was lying ready, and stretched along 

The blocks, well placed upon the slip. 

Happy, thrice happy, every one 

Who sees his labor well begun. 

And not perplexed and multiplied. 

By idly waiting for time and tide! 

And when the hot, long day was o'er. 
The young man at the Master's door 
Sat with the maiden calm and still. 
And within the porch, a little more 
Eemoved beyond the evening chill. 
The father sat, and told them tales 
Of wrecks in the great September gales. 
Of pirates upon the Spanish Main, 
And ships that never came back again. 
The chance and change of a sailor's life. 
Want and plenty, rest and strife, 



108 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 

His roving fancy, like the wind. 

That nothing can stay and nothing can bind, 

And the magic charm of foreign lands, 

With shadows of palms, and shining sands. 

Where the tumbling surf. 

O'er the coral reefs of Madagascar, 

Washes the feet of the swarthy Lascar, 

As he lies alone and asleep on the turf. 

And the trembling maiden held her breath 

At the tales of that awful, pitiless sea, 

With all its terror and mystery, 

The dim, dark sea, so like unto Death, 

That divides and yet unites mankind! 

And whenever the old man paused, a gleam 

From the bowl of his pipe would awhile illume 

The silent group in the twilight gloom. 

And thoughtful faces, as in a dream; 

And for a moment one might mark 

What had been hidden by the dark. 

That the head of the maiden lay at rest. 

Tenderly, on the young man's breast! 

Day by day the vessel grew, 

W^ith timbers fashioned strong and true, 

Stemson and keelson and sternson-knee, 

Till, framed with perfect symmetry, 

A skeleton ship rose up to view! 

And around the bows and along the side 

The heavy hammers, and mallets plied. 

Till, after many a week, at length, 

W^onderful for form and strength. 

Sublime in its enormous bulk. 

Loomed aloft the shadowy hulk! 

And around it columns of smoke, upwreathing, 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 109 

Eose from the boiling, bubbling, seething 

Caldron, that glowed. 

And overflowed 

With the black tar, heated for the sheathing. 

And amid the clamors 

Of clattering hammers. 

He who listened heard now and then 

The song of the Master and his men: — 

" Build me straight, worthy Master, 
Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel. 

That shall laugh at all disaster. 

And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!" 

With oaken brace and copper band. 

Lay the rudder on the sand. 

That, like a thought, should have control 

Over the movement of the whole; 

And near it the anchor, whose giant hand 

Would reach down and grapple with the land. 

And immovable and fast 

Hold the great ship against the bellowing blast! 

And at the bows an image stood. 

By a cunning artist carved in wood, 

With robes of white, that far behind 

Seemed to be fluttering in the wind. 

It was not shaped in a classic mould, 

Xot like a Nymph or Goddess of old. 

Or Naiad rising from the water, 

But modelled from the Master's daughter! 

On many a dreary and misty night, 

'Twill be seen by the rays of the signal light. 

Speeding along through the rain and the dark. 

Like a ghost in its snow-white sark. 



110 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 

The pilot of some phantom bark, 

Guiding the vessel, in its flight, 

By a path none other knows aright! 

Behold, at last. 

Each tall and tapering mast 

Is swung into its i^lace; 

Shrouds and stays 

Holding it tirm and fast! 

Long ago. 

In the deer-haunted forests of Maine, 

When upon mountain and plain 

Lay the snow, 

They fell, — those lordly pines! 

Those grand, majestic pines! 

Mid shouts and cheers 

The jaded steers. 

Panting beneath the goad. 

Dragged down the weary, winding road 

Those captive kings so straight and tall. 

To be shorn of their streaming hair. 

And, naked and bare, 

To feel the stress and the strain 

Of the wind and the reeling main. 

Whose roar 

Would remind them for evermore 

Of their native forests they should not see again. 

And everywhere 

The slender, graceful spars 

Poise aloft in the air. 

And at the mast head. 

White, blue, and red, 

A flag unrolls the stripes and stars. 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. Ill 

Ali^ when the wanderer^ lonely, friendless, 

In foreign harbors shall behold 

That flag unrolled, 

'Twill be as a friendly hand 

Stretched out from his native land, 

Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless! 

All is finished! and at length 

Has come the bridal day 

Of beauty and of strength. 

To-day the vessel shall be launched! 

With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched. 

And o'er the bay, 

Slowly, in all his splendors dight, 

The great sun rises to behold the sight. 

The ocean old. 

Centuries old. 

Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled. 

Paces restless to and fro. 

Up and down the sands of gold. 

His beating heart is not at rest; 

And far and wide, 

With ceaseless flow. 

His beard of snow 

Heaves with the heaving of his breast. 

He waits impatient for his bride. 

There she stands, 

AYith her foot upon the sands, 

Decked with flags and streamers gay, 

In honor of her marriage day, 

Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending, 

Eound her like a veil descending, 

Eeady to be 

The bride of the gray, old sea. 



112 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 

0]i the deck another hricle 
Is standing by her lover's side. 
Shadows from the flags and shrouds, 
Like the shadows cast by clouds, 
Broken by many a sunny fleck, 
Fall around them on the deck. 



The prayer is said. 

The service read. 

The joyous bridegroom bows his head. 

And in tears the good old Master 

Shakes the brown hand of his son, 

Kisses his daughter's glowing cheek 

In silence, for he cannot speak. 

And ever faster 

Down his own the tears begin to run. 

The worthy pastor — 

The shepherd of that wandering flock. 

That has the ocean for its wold. 

That has the vessel for its fold. 

Leaping ever from rock to rock — 

Spake, with accents mild and clear. 

Words of warning, words of cheer. 

But tec\ious to the bridegroom's ear. 

He knew the chart 

Of the sailor's heart. 

All its pleasures and its griefs, 

All its shallows and rocky reefs, 

All those secret currents, that flow 

With such resistless undertow. 

And lift and drift, with terrible force. 

The will from its moorings and its course. 

Therefore he spake, and thus said he : — 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 113 

^' Like unto ships far off at sea, 

Outward or homeward bound, are we. 

Before, behind, and all around, 

Floats and swings the horizon's bound, . 

Seems at its distant rim to rise 

And climb the crystal wall of the skies, 

And then again to turn and sink. 

As if we could slide from its outer brink. 

Ah! it is not the sea. 

It is not the sea that sinks and shelves, 

But ourselves 

That rock and rise 

With endless and uneasy motion, 

Now touching the very skies, 

Now sinking into the depths of ocean. 

Ah! if our souls but poise and swing 

Like the compass in its brazen ring. 

Ever level and ever true 

To the toil and the task we have to do, 

We shall sail securely, and safely reach 

The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach 

The sights we see, and the sounds we hear. 

Will be those of Joy and not of fear! " 

Then the Master, 

With a gesture of command. 

Waved his hand; 

And at the word. 

Loud and sudden there was heard. 

All around them and below. 

The sound of hammers, blow on blow, 

Knocking away the shores and spurs. 

And see! she stirs! 

She starts, — she moves, — she seems to feel 



114 THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 

The thrill of life along her keel, 
And, spurning with her foot the ground, 
With one exulting, joyous bound, 
She leaps into the ocean's arms! 

And lo! from the assembled crowd 
There rose a shout, prolonged and loud, 
That to the ocean seemed to say, — • 
" Take her, bridegroom, old and gray. 
Take her to thy protecting arms. 
With all her youth and all her charms! " 

How beautiful she is! How fair 
She lies within those arms, that press 
Her form with many a soft caress 
Of tenderness and watchful care! 
Sail forth into the sea, ship! 
Through wind and wave, right onward steer! 
The moistened eye, the trembling lip, 
Are not the signs of doubt or fear. 

Sail forth into the sea of life, 
gentle, loving, trusting wife. 
And safe from all adversity 
Upon the bosom of that sea 
Thy comings and thy goings be! 
For gentleness and love and trust 
Prevail o'er angry wave and gust; 
And in the wreck of noble lives 
Something immortal still survives! 

Thou, too, sail on, Ship of State! 
Sail on, Union, strong and great! 
Humanity with all its fears. 
With all the hopes of future years. 
Is hanging breathless on thy fate! 



SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT. 115 

We know what Master laid thy keel, 

What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel. 

Who made each mast, and sail, and rope. 

What anvils rang, what hammers beat. 

In what a forge and what a heat 

Were shaped the anchors of thy hope! 

Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 

^Tis of the wave and not the rock; 

'Tis but the flapping of the sail. 

And not a rent made by the gale! 

In spite of rock and tempest's roar. 

In spite of false lights on the shore. 

Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea! 

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, 

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, 

Our faith triumphant o'er our fears. 

Are all with thee, — are all with thee! 



SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT. 

Southward with fleet of ice 

Sailed the corsair Death; 
Wild and fast blew the blast. 

And the east-wind was his breath. 



His lordly ships of ice 

Glistened in the sun; 
On each side, like pennons wide, 

Flashing crystal streamlets run. 

His sails of white sea-mist 
Dripped with silver rain; 

But when he passed there were cast 
Leaden shadows o'er the main. 



116 SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT. 

Eastward from Campobello 
Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed; 

Three days or more seaward he bore. 
Then, alas! the land-wind failed. 

Alas! the land-wind failed. 
And ice-cold grew the night; 

And never more, on sea or shore, 
Should Sir Humphrey see the light. 

He sat upon the deck, 
The Book was in his hand; 

'' Do not fear! Heaven is as near," 
He said, " by water as by land! " 

In the first watch of the night. 

Without a signal's sound, 
Out of the sea, mysteriously, 
, The fleet of Death rose all around. 

The moon and the evening star 
Were hanging in the shrouds; 

Every mast, as it passed, 

Seemed to rake the passing clouds. 

They grappled with their prize, 
At midnight black and cold! 

As of a rock was the shock; 

Heavily the ground-swell rolled. 

Southward through day and dark. 
They drift in close embrace, 

With mist and rain to the Spanish Main; 
Yet there seems no change of place. 



THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD. 117 

Southward, forever southward, 

They drift through dark and day; 
And like a dream, in the Gulf-Stream 

Sinking, vanish all away. 



THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD. 

We sat within the farmhouse old, 
Whose w^indow^s, looking o'er the bay, 

Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold. 
An easy entrance, night and day. 

Xot far away we saw the i^ort, — 

The strange, old-fashioned, silent town, — 
The lighthouse, — the dismantled fort, — 

The wooden houses, quaint and brown. 

We sat and talked until the night. 
Descending, filled the little room; 

Our faces faded from the sight. 
Our voices only broke the gloom. 

We spake of many a vanished scene. 
Of what we once had thought and said. 

Of what had been, and might have been, 
And who was changed, and who was dead; 

And all that fills the hearts of friends, 
When first they feel, with secret pain. 

Their lives thenceforth have separate ends, 
And never can be one again; 



118 THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD. 

The first slight swervmg of the heart, 
That words are j^owerless to exj^ress. 

And leave it still unsaid in part, 
Or say it in too great excess. 

The very tones in which we spake 

Had something strange, I could but mark; 

The leaves of memory seemed to make 
A mournful rustling in the dark. 

Oft died the words upon our lips. 

As suddenly, from out the fire 
Built of the wreck of stranded ships. 

The flames would leap and then expire. 

And, as their splendor flashed and failed, 
We thought of wrecks upon the main, — 

Of ships dismasted, that were hailed 
And sent no answer back again. 

The windows, rattling in their frames, — 
The ocean, roaring up the beach, — 
, The gusty blast, — the bickering flames,— 
All mingled vaguely in our speech; 

Until they made themselves a part 

Of fancies floating through the brain, — 

The long-lost ventures of the heart. 
That send no answers back again. 

flames that glowed — hearts that yearned! 

They were indeed too much akin. 
The drift-wood fire without that burned. 

The thoughts that burned and glowed within. 



EESIGNATIOX. 119 



EESIGNATIOX. 



There is no flock, however watched and tended, 

But one dead lamh is there! 
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended. 

But has one vacant chair! 

The air is full of farewells to the dying. 

And mournings for the dead; 
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying. 

Will not be comforted! 

Let us be patient! These severe afflictions 

Not from the ground arise, 
But oftentimes celestial benedictions 

Assvime this dark disguise. 

We see but dimly through the mists and vapors 

Amid these earthly damps; 
What seems to us but sad, funereal tapers 

May be heaven's distant lamps. 

There is no Death! What seems so is transition. 

This life of mortal breath 
Is but a suburb of the life elysian. 

Whose portal we call Death. 

She is not dead,— the child of our affection,— 

But gone unto that school 
Where she no longer needs our poor protection. 

And Christ himself doth rule. 



120 RESIGNATION. 

In that great cloisters stillness and seclusion^ 

By guardian angels led, 
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, 

She lives, whom we call dead. 

Day after day we think what she is doing 

In those bright realms of air; 
Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, 

Behold her grown more fair. 

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken 

The bond which nature gives, 
Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, 

May reach her wdiere she lives. 

Not as a child shall we again behold her; 

For when with raptures wild 
In our embraces we again enfold her. 

She will not be a child; 

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion. 

Clothed with celestial grace; 
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion 

Shall we behold her face. 

And though at times impetuous with emotion 

And anguish long suppressed, 
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean. 

That cannot be at rest, — 

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling 

We may not wholly stay; 
By silence sanctifying, not concealing. 

The grief that must have way. 



THE LADDER OF ST. AUGUSTINE. 121 



THE LADDEE OF ST. AUGUSTINE. 

Saint Augustine! well hast thou said, 
That of our vices we can frame 

A ladder, if we will hut tread 

Beneath our feet each deed of shame! 

All common things, each day's events, 
That with the hour begin and end, 

Our pleasures and our discontents. 
Are rounds by which we may ascend. 

The low desire, the base design. 
That makes another's virtues less; 

The revel of the ruddy wine. 
And all occasions of excess; 

The longing for ignoble things; 

The strife for triumph more than truth; 
The hardening of the heart, that brings 

Irreverence for the dreams of youth; 

All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds, 

That have their root in thoughts of ill; 

Whatever hinders or impedes 
The action of the nobler will; — 

All these must first be trampled down 
Beneath our feet, if we would gain 

In the bright fields of fair renown 
The right of eminent domain. 

We have not wings, we cannot soar; 

But we have feet to scale and climb 
By slow degrees, by more and more. 

The cloudy summits of our time. 



122 THE WAKDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. 

The mighty pyramids, of stone 

That wedge-like cleave the desert airs. 

When nearer seen, and better known, 
Are but gigantic flights of stairs. 

The distant mountains, that uprear 
Their solid bastions to the skies, 

Are crossed by pathways, that appear 
As we to higher levels rise. 

The heights by great men reached and kept 
Were not attained by sudden flight, 

But they, while their companions slept. 
Were toiling upward in the night. 

Standing on what too long w^e bore 

With shoulders bent and downcast eyes. 

We may discern — unseen before — 
A path to higher destinies. 

Nor deem the irrevocable Past, 
As wholly w^asted, wholly vain. 

If, rising on its wrecks, at last 
To something nobler we attain. 



THE WAKDEN OF THE CINQUE POETS. 

A MIST was driving down the British Channel, 

The day was just begun. 
And through' the window-panes, on floor and panel, 

Streamed the red autumn sun. 

It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon. 

And the white sails of ships; 
And from the frowning rampart, the black cannon 

Hailed it with feverish lips. 



THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS. 123 

Sandwich and Eomney, Hastings, Hithe, and Dover 

Were all alert that day, 
To see the French war-steamers speeding over, 

When the fog cleared away. 

Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions. 

Their cannon, through the night. 
Holding their breath, had watched, in grim defiance, 

The sea-coast opposite. 

And now they roared at drum-beat from their stations 

On every citadel; 
Each answering each, with morning salutations, 

That all was well. 

And down the coast, all taking up the burden, 

Eeplied the distant forts, 
As if to summon from his sleep the Warden 

And Lord of the Cinque Ports. 

Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azure, 

No drum-beat from the wall, 
Xo morning gun from the black fort's embrasure. 

Awaken with its call! 

No more, surveying with an eye impartial 

The long line of the coast. 
Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field Marshal 

Be seeil upon his post! 

For in the night, unseen, a single warrior. 

In sombre harness mailed, 
Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer, 

The rampart wall had scaled. 



124 THE emperor's bird's-nest. 

He 2:)assed into the cliamLer of the sleej^er, 

The dark and silent room, 
And as he entered, darker grew, and deeper. 

The silence and the gloom. 

He did not j^ause to parley or dissemble, 

But smote the Warden hoar; 
Ah! what a blow! that made all England tremble 

And groan from shore to shore. 

Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited, 

The sun rose bright o'erhead; 
Xothing in Nature's aspect intimated 

That a great man was dead. 



THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST. 

Once the Emperor Charles of Spain, 
With his swarthy, grave commanders, 

I forget in what campaign. 

Long besieged, in mud and rain. 

Some old frontier town of Flanders. 

Up and down the dreary cam]). 
In great boots of Spanish leather. 

Striding with a measured tramp. 

These Hidalgos, dull and damp, 

Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the weather 

Thus as to and fro they went. 

Over upland and through hollow. 
Giving their impatience vent. 
Perched upon the Emperor's tent. 
In her nest, they spied a swallow. 



THE empekok's bikd's-t^est. 125 

Yes, it was a swallow's nest, 

Built of cla}^ and hair of horses, 
Mane, or tail, or dragoon's crest. 
Found on hedge-rows east and west. 

After skirmish of the forces. 

Then an old Hidalgo said. 

As he twirled his gray mustachio, 
" Sure this swallow overhead 
Thinks the Emperor's tent a shed, 

And the Emperor hut a Macho! " 

Hearing his imperial name 

Coupled with those words of malice. 
Half in anger, half "in shame. 
Forth the great campaigner came 

Slowly from his canvas palace. 

" Let no hand the bird molest," 

Said he solemnly, "nor hurt her! " 
Adding then, by way of jest, 
" (lolondrina is my guest, 

'Tis the wife of some deserter! " 

Swift as bowstring sj^eeds a shaft, 

Through the camp was spread the rumor, 

And the soldiers, as they quaffed 

Flemish beer at dinner, laughed 
At the Emperor's pleasant humor. 

So unharmed and unafraid 

Sat the swallow still and brooded, 
Till the constant cannonade 
Through the walls a breach had made, 

And the siege w^as thus concluded. 



126 THE TWO ANGELS. 

Then the army, elsewhere bent, 

Struck its tents as if disbanding, 
Only not the Emperor's tent, 
For he ordered, ere he went. 

Very curtly, '^ Leave it standing! " 

So it stood there all alone. 

Loosely flapping, torn and tattered. 
Till the brood was fledged and flown. 
Singing o'er those walls of stone 

Wliicli the cannon-shot had shattered. 



THE T^YO ANGELS. 

Two angels, one of Life and one of Death, 
Passed o'er our village as the morning broke; 

The dawn was on their faces, and beneath, 

The sombre houses hearsed with plumes of smoke. 

Their attitude and aspect were the same. 

Alike their features and their robes of white; 

But one was crowned with amaranth, as with flame. 
And one with asphodels, like flakes of light. 

I saw them pause on their celestial way; 

Then said I, with deep fear and doubt oppressed, 
" Beat not so loud, my heart, lest thou betray 

The place where thy beloved are at rest! " 

And he who wore the crown of asphodels. 
Descending, at my door began to knock. 

And my soul sank within me, as in wells 

The waters sink before an earthquake's shock. 



THE TWO ANGELS. 127 

I recognized the nameless agony, 

The terror and the tremor and the pain. 
That oft before had filled or haunted me, 

And now returned with threefold strength again. 

The door I opened to my heavenly guest, 

And listened, for I thought I heard God's voice; 

And, knowing whatso'er he sent was best. 
Dared neither to lament nor to rejoice. 

Then with a smile, that filled the house with light, 
" My errand is not Death, but Life," he said; 

And ere I answered, passing out of sight. 
On his celestial embassy he sped. 

^Twas at thy door, friend! and not at mine, 
The angel with the amaranthine wreath. 

Pausing, descended, and with voice divine, 
Whispered a word that had a sound like Death. 

Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, 
A shadow on those features fair and thin; 

And softly, from that hushed and darkened room. 
Two angels issued, where but one went in. 

All is of God! If he but wave his hand. 

The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud, 

Till, with a smile of light on sea and land, 
Lo! he looks back from the departing cloud. 

Angels of Life and Death alike are his; 

Without his leave they pass no threshold o'er; 
Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this, 

Against his messengers to shut the door? 



128 OLIVER BASSELIN. 



OLIVER BASSELIK 

In the Valley of the Vire 

Still is seen an ancient mill, 

With its gables quaint and queer. 

And beneath the window-sill. 

On the stone, 

These words alone: 

" Oliver Basselin lived here." 

Far above it, on the steep. 

Ruined stands the old Chateau; 
Nothing but the donjon-keep 
Left for shelter or for show. 
Its vacant eyes 
Stare at the skies. 
Stare at the valley green and deep. 

Once a convent, old and brown. 

Looked, but ah! it looks no more. 
From the neighboring hillside down 
On the rushing and the roar 
Of the stream 
Whose sunny gleam 
Cheers the little Norman town. 

In that darksome mill of stone, 
To the water's dash and din. 
Careless, humble, and unknown. 
Sang the poet Basselin 
Songs that fill 
That ancient mill 
With a splendor of its own. 



OLIVER BASSELIN. 129 

Never feeling of unrest 

Broke the pleasant dream he dreamed; 
Only made to be his nest, 
All the lovely valley seemed; 
No desire 
Of soaring higher 
Stirred or fluttered in his breast. 

True, his songs were not divine; 

Were not songs of that high art. 
Which, as winds do in the pine, 
Find an answer in each heart; 
But the mirth 
Of this green earth 
Laughed and revelled in his line. 

From the alehouse and the inn, 
Opening on the narrow street. 
Came the loud, convivial din. 
Singing and applause of feet. 
The laughing lays 
That in those days 
Sang the poet Basselin. 

In the castle, cased in steel. 

Knights, who fought at Agincourt, 
Watched and waited, spur on heel; 
But the poet sang for sport 
Songs that rang 
Another clang, 
Songs that lowlier hearts could feel. 



In the convent, clad in gray. 
Sat the monks in lonely cells, 



130 MY LOST YOUTH. 

Paced the cloisters, knelt to pray, 
And the poet heard their bells; 
But his rhymes 
Found other chimes, 

Nearer to the earth than they. 

Gone are all the barons bold, 

Gone are all the knights and squires. 
Gone the abbot stern and cold. 
And the brotherhood of friars; 
Not a name 
Eemains to fame. 
From those mouldering days of old! 

But the poet's memory here 

Of the landscape makes a part; 
Like the river, swift and clear, 

Flows his song through many a heart; 
Haunting still 
That ancient mill. 
In the A^alley of the Vire. 



MY LOST YOUTH. 

Often I think of the beautiful town 

That is seated by the sea; 
Often in thought go up and down 
The pleasant streets of that dear old town. 
And my youth comes l^ack to me. 
And a verse of a Lapland song 
Is haunting my memory still: 
" A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 



MY LOST YOUTH. 131 

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, 

And catch, in sudden gleams, 
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas, 
And islands that were the Hesperides 
Of all my hoyish dreams. 

And the burden of that old song, 
It murmurs and whispers still: 
" A hoy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." ^ 

I remember the black wharves and the slips 

And the sea-tiles tossing free; 
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips, 
And the beauty and mystery of the ships. 
And the magic of the sea. 

And the voice of that wayward song 
Is singing and saying still: 
" A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I remember the bulwarks by the shore, 

And the fort upon the hill; 
The sun-rise gun, with its hollow roar, 
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er, 
x\nd the bugle wild and shrill. 
And the music of that old song 
Throbs in my memory still: 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I remember the sea-fight far away, 

How it thundered o'er the tide! 
And the dead captains as they lay 
In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay. 

Where they in battle died. 



132 MY LOST YOUTH. 

And the sound of that mournful song 
Goes through me with a thrill: 
" A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I can see the breezy dome of groves, 
The shadows of Deering's Woods; 
And the friendships old and the early loves 
Come back with a sabbath sound, as of doves 
In quiet neighborhoods. 

And the verse of that sweet old song. 
It flutters and murmurs still: 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart 

Across the schoolboy's brain; 
The song and the silence in the heart. 
That in part are prophecies, and in part 
Are longings wild and vain. 

And the voice of that fitful song 
Sings on, and is never still: 
" A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

There are things of which I may not speak; 

There are dreams that cannot die; 
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak. 
And bring a pallor into the cheek. 
And a mist before the eye. 

And the words of that fatal song - 
Come over me like a chill: 
" A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 



THE GOLDEN MILE-STONE. 133 

Strange to me now are the forms I meet 

When I visit the clear old town; 
But the native air is pure and sweet, 
And the trees that overshadow each well-known street. 
As they balance up and down, 
Are singing the beautiful song, 
Are sighing and whispering still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair. 

And with joy that is almost pain 
My heart goes back to wander there. 
And among the dreams of the days that were, 
I find my lost youth again. 

And the strange and beautiful song. 
The groves are repeating it still: 
" A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 

THE GOLDEN MILE-STOISTE. 

Leafless are the trees; their purple branches 
Spread themselves abroad, like reefs of coral, 

Eising silent 
In the Eed Sea of the Winter sunset. 

From the hundred chimneys of the village. 
Like the Afreet in the Arabian story. 

Smoky columns 
Tower aloft into the air of amber. 

At the window winks the flickering fire-light; 
Here and there the lamps of evening glimmer. 

Social watch-fires 
Answering one another through the darkness. 



131 THE GOLDEN MILE-STONE. 

On the lieartli the liglited logs are glowing, 
And like Ariel in the cloven pine-tree 

For its freedom 
Groans and sighs the air imprisoned in them. 

By the fireside there are old men seated, 
Seeing mined cities in the ashes. 

Asking sadly 
Of the Past what it can ne'er restore them. 

By the fireside there are yonthfnl dreamers. 
Building castles fair, with stately stairways, 

Asking blindly 
Of the Future what it cannot give them. 

By the fireside tragedies are acted 

In whose scenes appear two actors only, 

"Wife and husband. 
And above them God the sole spectator. 

By the fireside there are peace and comfort, 
Wives and children, with fair, thoughtful faces, 

Waiting, watching 
For a well-known footstep in the j^assage. 

Each man's chimney is his Golden Mile-stone, 
Is the central point, from which he measures 

Every distance 
Through the gateways of the world around him. 

In his farthest wanderings still he sees- it; 

Hears the talking flame, the answering night-wind. 

As he heard them 
When he sat with those who were, but are not. 



SANDALPHON. 185 

ITappy he whom neither wealth nor fashion, 
Nor the march of the encroaching city, 

Drives an exile 
From the hearth of his ancestral homestead. 

We may hnild more splendid habitations, 

Fill our rooms with paintings and with sculptures, 

"But we cannot 
Buy with gold the old associations! 



SANDALPHON. 

Have you read in the Talmud of old, 
In the Legends the Eabbins have told 

Of the limitless realms of the air, — 
Have you read it, — the marvellous story 
Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Glory, 

Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer? 

How, erect, at the outermost gates 
Of the City Celestial he waits. 

With his feet on the ladder of light. 
That, crowded with angels unnumbered. 
By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered 

Alone in the desert at night? 

The Angels of Wind and of Fire 
Chaunt only one hymn, and expire 

With the song's irresistible stress; 
Fxpire in their rapture and wonder, 
As harp-strings are broken asunder 

By music they throb to express. 



136 SANDALPHON. 

But serene in the rapturous throng, 
Unmoved by the rush of the song, 

With eyes unimpassioned and slow, 
Among the dead angels, the deathless 
Sandalphon stands listening breathless 

To sounds that ascend from below; — 

From the spirits on earth that adore. 
From the souls that entreat and implore 

In the fervor and passion of prayer; 
From the hearts that are broken with losses. 
And weary with dragging the crosses 

Too heavy for mortals to bear. 

And he gathers the prayers as he stands. 
And they change into flowers in his hands, 

Into garlands of purple and red; 
And beneath the great arch of the portal. 
Through the streets of the City Immortal 

Is wafted the fragrance they shed. 

It is but a legend, I know, — 
A fable, a phantom, a show. 

Of the ancient Eabbinical lore; 
Yet the old medieval tradition. 
The beautiful, strange superstition. 

But haunts me and holds me the more. 

When I look from my window at night, 
And the welkin above is all white, 

All throbbing and panting with stars, 
Among them majestic is standing 
Sandalphon the angel, expanding 

His pinions in nebulous bars. 



SANDALPHON. 137 



And the legend, I feel, is a part 

Of the hunger and thirst of the heart, 

The frenzy and fire of the brain, 
That grasps at the fruitage forbidden, 
The golden pomegranates of Eden, 

To quiet its fever and pain. 



NOTES. 



Page 82. All the Foreslers of Fla7ulers. 

The title of Foresters was given to the early governors of Flanders, appointed by the 
kings of France. Lyderick du Bucq, in the days of Clotaire the Second, was the first 
of them ; and Beaudoin Bras-de-Fer, who stole away the fair Judith, daughter of 
Charles the Bald, from the French court, and married her in Bruges, was the last. 
After him, the title of Forester was changed to that of Count. Philippe d'Alsace, Guy 
de Dampierre, and Louis de Crecy, coming later in the order of time, were therefore 
rather Counts than Foresters. Philippe went twice to the Holy Land as a Crusader, 
and died of the plague at St. Jean-d'Acre, shortly after the capture of the city by the 
Christians. Guy de Dampierre died in the prison of Compiegne. Louis de Crecy was 
son and successor of Robert de Bethune, who strangled his wife, Yolande de Bourgogne, 
with the bridle of his horse, for having poisoned, at the age of eleven years, Charles, 
his son by his first wife, Blanche d'Anjou. 

Page 83. Stately dames^ like queens attended. 

When Philippe-le-Bel, king of France, visited Flanders with his queen, she was so 
astonished at the magnificence of the dames of Bruges, that she exclaimed, " Je croyais 
etre seule reine ici, mais il parait que ceux de Flandre qui se trouvent dans nos prisons 
sont tons des princes, car leurs femmes sont habillees comme des princesses et des 
reines." 

When the burgomasters of Ghent, Bruges, and Ypres went to Paris to pay homage 
to King John, in 1351, they were received with great pomp and distinction ; but, being 
invited to a festival, they observed that their seats at table were not furnished with 
cushions ; wliereupon, to make known their displeasure at this want of regard to their 
dignity, they folded their richly embroidered cloaks and seated themselves upon them. 
On rising from table, they left their cloaks behind them, and, being informed of their 
apparent forgetfulness, Simon van Eertrycke, burgomaster of Bruges, replied, "We 
Flemings are not in the habit of carrying away our cushions after dinner.'" 

Page 83. Knights who bore the Fleece of Gold. 

Philippe de Bourgogne, surnamed Le Bon, espoused Isabella of Portugal, on the 10th 
of January, 1430, and on the same day instituted the famous order of the Fleece of Gold. 

Page 83. / beheld the gentle Mary. 

Marie de Valois, Duchess of Burgundy, was left by the death of her father, Charles- 
le-Temeraire, at the age of twenty, the richest heiress of Europe. She came to Bruges, 
as Countess of Flanders, in 1477, and in the same year was married by proxy to the 



140 NOTES. 

Archduke Maximilian. According to the custom of the time, the Duke of Bavaria, 
Maximilian's substitute, slept with the princess. They were both in complete dress, 
separated by a naked sword, and attended by four armed guards. Marie was adored 
by her subjects for her gentleness and her many other virtues. 

Maximilian was son of the Emperor Frederick the Third, and is the same person 
mentioned afterwards in the poem of Nuremberg as the Kaiser Maximilian, and the 
hero of Pfinzing's poem of Teuerdank. Having been imprisoned by the revolted 
burghers of Bruges, they refused to release him, till he consented to kneel in the public 
square, and to swear on the Holy Evangelists and the body of Saint Donatus that he 
would not take vengeance upon them for their rebellion. 

Page 83. The bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold. 

This battle, the most memorable in Flemish history, was fought under the walls of 
Courtray, on the 11th of July, 1302, between the French and the Flemings, the former 
commanded by Robert, Comte d'Artois, and the latter by Guillaume de Juliers, and 
Jean, Comte de Namur. The French army was completely routed, with a loss of twenty 
thousand infantry and seven thousand cavalry ; among whom were sixty-three princes, 
dukes, and counts, seven hundred lords-banneret, and eleven hundred noblemen. The 
flower of the French nobility perished on that day, to which history has given the name 
of the Journee des Eperons d'' Or., from the great number of golden spurs found on the 
field of battle. Seven hundred of them were Imng up as a trophy in the church of 
Notre Dame de Courtray ; and, as the cavaliers of that day wore but a single spur each, 
these vouched to God for the violent and bloody death of seven hundred of his creatures. 

Page 83. Saiv the fight at 3Iirmeivater. 

When the inhabitants of Bruges were digging a canal at Minnewater, to bring the 
waters of the Lys from Deynze to their city, they were attacked and routed by the 
citizens of Ghent, whose commerce would have been much injured by the canal. 
They were led by Jean Lyons, captain of a military company at Ghent, called the 
C'ha2)ero?is Blancs. He had great sway over the turbulent populace, who, in those 
prosperous times of the city, gained an easy livelihood by laboring two or three days 
in the week, and had the remaining four or five to devote to public affairs. The fight 
at Minnewater was followed by open rebellion against Louis de Maele, the Count of 
Flanders and Protector of Bruges. His superb chateau of Wondelghem was pillaged 
and burnt ; and the insurgents forced the gates of Bruges, and entered in triumph, 
with Lyons mounted at their head. A few days afterwards he died suddenly, perhaps 
by poison. 

Meanwhile the insurgents received a check at the village of Nevele ; and two hun- 
dred of them perished in the church, which was burned by the Count's orders. One 
of the chiefs, Jean de Lannoy, took refuge in the belfry. From the summit of the tower 
he held forth his purse filled with gold, and begged for deliverance. It was in vain. 
His enemies cried to him from below to save himself as best he might ; and, half 
suffocated with smoke and flame, he threw himself from the tower and perished at 
their feet. Peace was soon afterwards established, and the Count retired to faithful 
Bruges, 



NOTES. 14^1 

Page 86. That their great imperial city stretched its hand through every clime. 
An old popular proverb of the town runs thus :— 

" Nurnherg''s Hand 
Geht dxirch alle Land:' 

Nuremberg's hand 
Goes through every land. 

Page 86. Sat the poet Melchior singing Kaiser Maximilian's praise. 

Melchior Pfinzing was one of the most celebrated German poets of the sixteenth 
century. The hero of his Teuerdank was the reigning emperor, Maximilian ; and the 
poem was to the Germans of that day what the Orlando Furioso was to the Italians. 
Maximilian is mentioned before, in the Belfi-y of Bruges. See page 83. 

Page 87. In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy dvst. 

The tomb of Saint Sebald, in the church which bears his name, is one of the richest 
works of art in Nuremberg. It is of bronze, and was cast by Peter Vischer and his 
sons, who labored upon it thirteen years. It is adorned with nearly one hundred 
figures, among which those of the Twelve Apostles are conspicuous for size and beauty. 

Page 87. In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a inx of sculpture rare. 

This pix, or tabernacle for the vessels of the sacrament, is by the hand of Adam 
Kraft. It is an exquisite piece of sculpture in white stone, and rises to the height of 
sixty-four feet. It stands in the choir, whose richly painted windows cover it^ with 
varied colors. 

Page 88. Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters. 

The Twelve Wise Masters was the title of the original corporation of the Master- 
singers. Hans Sachs, the cobbler of Nuremberg, though not one of the original Twelve, 
was the most renowned of the Mastersingers, as well as the most voluminous. He 
flourished in the sixteenth century ; and left behind him thirty-four folio volumes of 
manuscript, containing two hundred and eight plays, one thousand and seven hundred 
comic tales, and between four and five thousand lyric poems. 

Page 88. As in A'dam Puschman's song. 

Adam Puschman, in his poem on the death of Hans Sachs, describes him as he 
appeared in a vision : — 

"An old man, 
Gray and white and dove-like. 
Who had, in sooth, a great beard. 
And read in a fair, great book, 
Beautiful, with golden clasps." 

Page 115. Sir Humphrey Gilbert. 

" When the wind abated and the vessels were near enough, the Admiral was seen 
constantly sitting in the stern, with a book in his hand. On the 9th of September he 



/•^^XAli >woi 



142 NOTES. 

was seen for the last time, and was heard by the people of the Hind to say, ' We are 
as near heaven by sea as by land/ In the following night, the lights of the ship 
suddenly disappeared. The people in the other vessel kept a good lookout for him 
during the remainder of the voyage. On the 22d of September they arrived, through 
much tempest and peril, at Falmouth. But nothing more was Been or heard of the 
Admiral.'"— Belknap's American Biography, I. 203. 

Page 121. Thatofmir vices we can frame a ladder. 

The words of St. Augustine are : " De vitiis nostris scalam nobis facimus, si vitia 
ipsa calcamus.'"— Sermon III., De Ascensione. 

Page 125. And the Empei'or but a Macho. 

Macho, in Spanish, signifies a mule. Golondrina is the feminine form of Golon- 
diino, a swallow, and also a cant name for a deserter. 

Page 128. Oliver Basselin. 

Oliver Basselin, the Pere joyeux du Vaudeville, flourished in the fifteenth century, 
and gave to his convivial songs the name of his native valleys, in which he sang them, 
Vaux-de-Vire. This name was afterward corrupted into the modern Vaudeville. 

Page 131. I remember the sea-fight far away. 

This was the engagement between the "Enterprise" and " Boxer,'' oflf the harbor 
of Portland, in which both captains were slain. They were buried side by side in the 
cemetery on Mountjoy. 



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